


Wake Up Exhausted

by cultfilmx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Choking, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Heterosexual Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Musical References, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultfilmx/pseuds/cultfilmx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becca spends high school giving more attention to her best friend Niall than she does to her music program. Four years of non-reciprocated feelings are forced to come to an end when Niall meets Summer.</p><p>In steps Harry.</p><p>--</p><p>music university au with non-famous!1D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mama Who Bore Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And some just lie there crying for him to come and find them
> 
> But when he comes they don't know how to go."

I think the moment I knew things had changed was when we were sitting in one of the band rooms, I had lifted my eyes from off of my textbook and onto them; He was screwing around on the shitty Yamaha keyboard while she sat on his knee. The two of them played a horrible rendition of Heart and Soul (mostly on Niall’s part), their flirtatiousness not unnoticed by me.

The two had matching scarlet cheeks and massive grins–a cherub-like pair.

I guess I always thought that if you were blonde it’s pretty much illegal or impossible to like someone else who is blonde. It’s an unflattering partner choice, no?

I must have been staring for too long, because Summer sent a look of concern my way. I remember the way her eyebrows knit and how her immaculately curled ringlets sprang around wildly as she got herself off of him. The world slowed down, as I watched his face change to a look of disappointment as she got off of him.

“You ok?”

I can only imagine the artificiality on my face when I responded.

“Yeah, of course.”

**He was in love with her the way I was in love with him.**

—

I remember when we met in High School (not perfectly, but pretty damn well); It was first year and we had music theory class together. He was in the guitar program, I was in vocal, but often times the programs would have group classes together. According to him, I said something funny when the attendance was called and that was all it took for him to look twice at me and decide he wanted to be my friend. It must have been only a week or so later when he sat beside me in class, handing over snarky remarks on wrinkled lined paper.

The part I don’t remember is when my thoughts began to centre entirely and utterly around **him**. I could sit in bed, nauseous as hell, running our interactions **over** and **over** again in my head. Only the stupid stuff stuck: the stupid calluses he built from playing guitar, the stupid accent, the stupid ugly shirts that his mom probably bought for him.

I think maybe during the third month of first year he developed some sort of two second fascination with me and asked me to go golfing with him and his friends over the break.

I couldn’t golf but I said yes (because God knows I’d do anything for him).

The plans didn’t follow through anyway, so I guess I saved myself the embarrassment.

When we got back, I crossed my fingers that that tiny glint of a crush he had would still be there. Figures he had developed some sort of relationship with a girl from the catholic school a few blocks over. He said they hooked up at a party or something and really hit it off. I couldn’t think straight for a month. My grades dropped and I called in sick at least once a week. I was in a constant loop of hating school, hating this girl I had never met, hating Niall for not liking me, but mostly hating myself for allowing someone to have so much power over me.

However,the immediacy and intensity of my thoughts about him would change depending on his hair cut, or what shirt he wore, or if I heard him practising singing in the stairwell by himself.

I try to remember other moments of high school: frustration with teachers, getting too high on the day of the spring festival, or even the time someone threw a water bottle at my eyebrow piercing by accident and it was swollen for months. Those memories are faint in comparison to memories of him.

My high school career was more about investing time into his life than my own.

We agreed on the title “best friends” as we came to the end of second year. We would hang out bi-weekly after band/choir practice (which occurred at the same time on Thursdays). We would have lunch with one another everyday, excluding the few times I would go to smoke up behind the building with some of my drama class friends. I wondered if he missed me when he wasn’t eating lunch with me.

We had the kind of friendship where I asked and worried about him constantly. I would sit patiently as he regurgitated his day with wild hand gestures. I would only bring up things that worried me on my own accord. Those bursts of feelings could range from six months to two years. He was never pushy, but he worried, he just didn’t really show it until we got a little older and more mature.

Our friendship fluctuated in closeness, in intimacy, in genuineness. Constantly.

We had our flawed moments too: like how he assumed he was taking me to prom, or when he vomited on my shoes, or got our weed laced, or when he got me kicked out of history class for laughing too hard at his Marie Curie puns.

We graduated.

That meant the same summer job, the same music university, the same dorm building. It was too perfect.

I will never forget the third year of high school when he offered to make out with me because I was sad. I don’t think he’ll ever know that I thought about it for two months straight, and that I felt even sadder for years.

I considered killing myself that summer because I wasn’t sure if my life was even about me any more.


	2. Mama Who Bore Me (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mama, the weeping
> 
> Mama, the angels
> 
> No sleep in Heaven, or Bethlehem."

Summer lives in the dorm room next to mine.

While mine could be described as a depressed minimalist, her’s could be described as a fourteen year old’s brain.

My room (which I shared with a grouchy science major) is filled with the bare minimum assets required for a mildly comfy university experience. The colour scheme ranged from drab grey to  dull brown. There were no posters,  and little to no ornaments, excluding the small graduation owl figurine given to me by my mother and the heinous neon pink shot glass Niall bought me when I turned legal drinking age. 

Summer’s room provided itself as a hilarious contrast to mine: messy, Pinterest-inspired, and practically doused in perfume and hair product. After all, this was allowed because Summer was blessed with no room mate, that is, if you don't include her mess. At least her room smelt better than mine, though.

She had theorized once that my roommate brought the dead animals she dissected back to our room and left them in her drawers (figures it was simply the chemicals lingering on her lab coat).

–

The first thing I noticed about Summer was her hair. She managed to somehow be blessed with naturally platinum (believe it or not) and always styled it to perfection.

“Hey, uh, you have really nice hair,” I had choked out as she passed by me in the hallway one day. I recognized her from my dorm building, so there was a small chance she wouldn’t think I was a total weirdo if she had seen my face before.

“Thank you!” She chirped (that’s the best word for it, her voice hits dog-whistle tone when she’s excited). I remember being shocked by her distinctly American accent and the tawny coloured fringe of her vest. She stuck out like a sore thumb on campus.

“Is it rude if I ask you if you bleach it?” Almost immediately I cringed at the stupidity of my own words. My attempts at conversation had always been putrid.

“I get asked that all the time, actually. It’s natural, I swear!” She sends me a smile that momentarily eases my worry. 

I had never really been close with girls, I struggled with the level of intimacy they often required (physically and emotionally). Somehow, Summer had made her way into my life easily. Being friends with her was comfortable, it wasn’t ever too intimate or thought-provoking, and I was okay with that.

The pinnacle of difficulties that existed in our relationship was that I would occasionally march out of her room red faced, and mind still reeling with arguments about intersectional feminism, or the treatment of mental illnesses in the school system.

It was just the way our friendship worked. She was some privileged white girl from America, and I often expected too much from her.

However, she often had a way of surprising me; She was the one who high-fived me and bought me shots when I came out officially as bisexual, or brought over **She’s All That** when my cramps were too bad to go out. She would do my hair before we went to class, or even let me copy her theory homework that I always forgot to do.

She became the second person I ever called my “best friend”.

Summer captivated me with ease, and it wasn’t long until she found her way into Niall and I’s friendship too.

I should have known better. The look on his face when I showed him a picture of her on Facebook said it all, I should have never introduced them.

—

“ _Whaaaaat_ are you doing?” He sings out as he opens the door and steps into my room, taking a seat beside me on my bed. His sporty cologne (the same one he’s been wearing since high school) wafts through the room. I immediately can’t concentrate, the notes on the page become scribbles.

“Translating this piece into a different key. Apparently Mrs. U thinks Sopranos can sing Alto now,” I grumble, looking for where I had left off.

“Shit,” He grunts in agreement, leaning forward to read what I had so far. I look up and catch a peek of what he is wearing. His breath fans against my cheek and I feel my heart swell like the idiot that I am. His eyes are ecstatic and skimming my work at a much higher energy than usual.

He’s wearing his favourite snap-back (which Summer got him for Christmas) and a muscle shirt for some team I didn’t give a shit about.

Summer and him both bonded over their love for teams throwing/kicking/hitting balls back and forth.  Something about not having a male figure in my life probably created a lack of interest in male-dominated fields.

“You look grumpy…” He grins, the cute lilt of his voice ringing in my ears. He raises his hand and scratches deftly at his stubble. The sound was enough to drive anyone mad, but no matter how many times I tell him to shave, he never listens.

“I’m concentrating,” I mumble, trying to give off the appearance that I was.

“Extra grumpy…” He continues, each word dripping with implications.

Not lifting my gaze, I raise an eyebrow. 

“Period grumpy.”

I throw down my pencil, and snatch his snapback from off his head, tossing it across the room and onto my roommate’s bed, “You’re a proper dick, you know that?”

 _“Oooooo_ , sassy.” He springs up, his finicky knee making his tiny jog across the room look particularly awkward. I take this moment to adjust my glasses back onto my face, all an attempt for me to cover the blush rising on my cheeks.

He returns back to the seat on my bed, nearly throwing himself onto it with a bounce. 

“Don’t you have some ‘broskis’ to drink ‘brus’ with or something?” I snap haughtily, knowing very well he could see right through my nastiness.

It isn’t until he lets out one of his _Niall laughs_ that I notice something is off.

He’s got this expression on like he could bounce from wall to wall. He only got like this when he did MDMA, or did well on a test without trying, or won a sports game or…

“Why yes actually, I do. Was gonna grab some with the vocal boys, you know, Harry, Louis and that lot. Thought I’d swing by before I went,” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, I notice I’ve been staring blankly at him for a minute or so. “Share the good news...”

“Are you sure this is a good time? I’m on shark week after all. Might just burst into tears.”

Another Niall laugh blesses the room.

“I grew a pair and asked Summer out.”

I do burst into tears, but I save it until he leaves the room.

**Happy Shark Week.**

—

A few days of radio silence was my attempt to recover from Niall’s surprise visit to my dorm room. Of course, neither him nor Summer noticed. I already was known for having a minimal social media presence and a penchant for never answering my phone, so what was the difference? I became even more invisible, you know, if possible. Summer and Niall were too wrapped up in their own affairs to realize I had dropped off the friendship radar.

I wish heartbreak looked like it did in the movies.

I could sit in bed and watch sappy movies into the wee hours. I could be pigging out on ice cream in my cute matching set pyjamas.

Instead, my grades suffered, and my love for music seemed to be overshadowed by the bombarding sound of my own heart breaking.

I felt like crying all the time, and for some reason I never did. I just ended up getting high and masturbating whenever my roommate was out.

—

“Hey. Cool shirt.”

I nearly roll my eyes into the back of my head. Wearing a ‘Queen’ shirt does not give anyone permission to talk to me, especially dumb hipster boys.

“Thanks,” I shift my gaze from my bag to the front of the class. I was hoping boy with the Jesus hair would get the hint that I'm not up for any conversation today, but apparently not.

“So…” He speaks super slowly and it immediately grates on my nerves, “Do you like Musical Theatre?”

“What?” Surprised, I turn to look at the boy beside me. Some Tenor from the second year vocalists, pretty sure I had sat beside him before or overheard one of his singing tests the other day. Then again, could’ve been someone else, I had been a daze all week.

He shouldn’t be in this class, though.He was certainly a year older. He must have failed first year Music History, which seems near impossible considering it was the easiest class I had taken to date (high school included).

“Do you like Musical Theatre?” He asks again.

I swallow nervously, unsure what his intentions are. I note the strange muddy green of his eyes. All of my friends had beautiful light coloured eyes. Even the brief thought of Summer and Niall twists at my insides.

“Sure, I guess.” I shrug limply, trying to maintain my nonchalant physicality.

He clearly isn’t getting the hint because his face lights up, revealing two little dimples. I feel the urge to inform him that dimples are deformities. _Your face is a fucking deformity!_

“Why…?” I ask, face crinkling in disdain.

The lecture is beginning. I should turn to listen, but I find myself oddly mesmerized.

He leans in and I flinch. He is whispering now (still loudly, so what was even the point?). His voice seemingly gets huskier, “Some of the vocal students have kind of made a small Musical Theatre group. You interested?”

People didn’t talk to me unless they needed something from me. 

“I’m okay, thanks.” I reply coldly, turning my face away from him.

“I heard you singing the other day,“ It feels like every word he says takes a good minute to get out. “You have a musical theatre voice. Your vibrato and your expressions are perfect for it.“ He informs me, as if his words were the greatest compliment to bestow upon someone like me. Like I should be fucking honoured.

I wasn’t sure how to react. The vocal program was small enough that everyone knew everyone: who slept with who, who sang the best, who was constantly high during class, etc. Information spread like wildfire in a dry woods.

“That’s…” I can’t even find the words at first. All I know is that I’m angry and not in the mood for this shit. I feel my face flush with anger,“…Not really a compliment considering I’m training to be a classical singer.”

A few people look over and hush me. His mouth shuts into a firm line. 

“Sorry…” He mutters as he turns his body back to the lecture.

Maybe it was some kind of nervous habit, but he pulls a hair elastic off of his wrist and pulls his hair back into a half-bun. I want to tell him it suits him, that it makes him look less like Jesus, but still pretty dumb and hipster.

**Hurricane Becca wrecking any attempt at friendship or conversation in her vicinity.**


	3. All That's Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m calling  
> To know the world’s true yearning  
> The hunger that a child feels for everything they’re shown."

“Trip- _puh_ -let, Trip- _puh_ -let, Trip- _puh_ -let.”

I hear him making her laugh and it makes me want to projectile vomit onto the entire lecture hall.

**The Best Part(s) About Taking The Same Elective As Your Two Best Friends**

  1. They make the class more entertaining

  2. You can copy their homework.




**The Worst Part(s) About Taking The Same Elective As Your Two Best Friends**

  1. They want to fuck each other in the middle of class

  2. You’re in love with one of them and even being in their vicinity breaks your tiny, nearly non-existent heart




 

Niall prods me in the shoulder roughly, “There’s a seat beside me, move back a row.”

“I forgot my glasses,” I pull my face into some sort of pretend frown and turn it his way. I’m also ninety-nine percent sure he saw me wearing them to class, but he seems to have already forgotten so I'm in the clear. Summer, on the other hand, is too busy texting to listen. She’d probably pick up on my lie in a heartbeat.

“Since when do you pay attention?” He teases, leaning even further forward so that he can invade my personal comfort and break my fragile heart even more.

“Since your notes scored me a whopping 58% on the last assignment,” I grunt turning myself away from him in order to prevent further damage to my retinas.

He giggles and I feel like I’m suspended in mid-air. 

Summer finally looks up from her phone. Niall’s laugh must be a mating call or something.

“Becky, you remember Katie, right? She’s hosting a party for the Arts Campus at her new townhouse this Friday.”

“Yeah?” I ignore her gaze, ruffing through my notes, which consisted of half-finished one-liners and doodles of dicks that Niall had drawn.

Katie was pretty okay considering I had a hard time establishing relationships with other girls. Her and I bonded over the fact that both of us had one Asian parent and one Caucasian one. The difference between us is that she had that perfect mix of the two–she looked like the perfect fetishized concept of ‘mixed’, while I was stuck with that weird bug-eyed, confusing face that people couldn’t quite place ("What exactly _are_ you?"). Genetics are a bitch.

“Do you wanna go?”

**No.**

“I don’t really have enough money for a taxi or booze.” In this case I wasn’t even lying.

“She lives like ten minutes from here, dumb ass! And you can just steal some of mine, I’m pretty sure Niall and I owe you like five mickeys at this point, anyway,” She follows the last statement with a melodic laugh. I realize she’s joking, but the two of them often took advantage of the fact that I was a complete and utter pushover.

I shrug and sneak a look at Niall, trying to see where he stood on this whole event, but to no one’s surprise he is too busy being infatuated by Summer’s every movement to even comment.

—

I push my way out of the post-class explosion, trying not to get completely trampled. I somehow manage to lose Summer and Niall in the chaos of students and I don’t really feel too bad about it either. I make the quick mental decision that I’ll take a different route back to the dorm. This way I could avoid seeing them hold hands or whatever the hell they were up to.

Maybe getting some air would erase years of pent up feelings and a crippling amount of heartbreak. Haha. Good one, Becca. You’re welcome, Becca. No problem, Becca. Keep up the good work, Bec–

“I like that one too.”

I snap out of my inner dialogue only to spot the Jesus Tenor I had spoken to earlier in the week.

He’s sitting on a bench with a pile of sheet music in hand like some sort of stereotype of what a music student is supposed to look like. Need I mention that when I say he has a pile of sheet music I actually mean a mountain. 

“Thanks.” 

He stares at my Owen Pallet shirt for a second too long. Maybe he is admiring how our chests are the same level of flatness.

He’s wearing a similar variation of button-up and tight jeans to the ones’ he wore the other day in class. Fucking hipster.

We both stand there for a second until I finally decide to open my mouth and end the awkwardness.

“Yeah." Nice, Becca.

I begin to pick up my step again, turning my body in a robotic fashion towards the general location of my dorm. 

“Wait!"

I stop, and for some stupid reason, I go back towards him. As I get closer, I realize he smells of hippy peppermint shampoo. You’d think he was some kind of baby grown from the earth or some shit.

“Do you know this musical?” He sweeps aside some wandering strands of his stupid Jesus hair.

“Spring Awakening? Yeah. Like, I’ve listened to it a few times.”

He grins at me. Fucker probably thinks he’s charming and suave.

“That’s the musical you’re planning on doing?” Why was I even keeping up a conversation?

“Mmhmm,” He hums, green eyes now concentrating on the task in front of him. Why is he playing all coy now?

“Are you the director or something?” 

“Nah, just photocopying and sorting it for a friend.”

 Did he just call me over here so he could use me as a sounding board?

“Alright, cool…” I mutter.

He snaps his head up and catches my eyes with his own; They aren’t as muddy as I originally thought, they’re sort of moss coloured. Gross moss, but still moss.

“You should just audition,” He states matter-of-factly.

“Nope,” I roll my eyes. The way he’s looking at me suddenly sends a rise of goosebumps along my skin. 

“What’s there to lose?” He whines, once again fiddling with his peppermint-y locks. Stop touching your **stupid** hair.

“Free time? My dignity?” I spit back.

He looks a bit taken aback by the harshness of my tone, but he’s still smiling, “Look, it’s once a week on Tuesdays, and occasionally on Sundays depending on what role you have.”

After a moment’s pause I speak up, “Sounds great.”

His face practically splits in two with a smile, little dimples showing up, ”So you’ll do it?”

“Nope!” I give him a wave and a thumbs up, and for the second time in the past ten minutes I begin to head back towards my room.

But instead of letting me go, he grabs me by the end of my cardigan. His choice to invade my space infuriates me. The fact that he thinks his proposition is important enough to _grab_ me drives me up the wall.  An unusual amount of anger starts bubbling in my gut. Before I know it, I’ve swatted his hand away, and given his shoulder a hard shove.

“Hands off!” I grunt, my voice doesn’t even sound like my own.

His eyes are almost bugging out of his head. He fixes his own shirt, which is so loosely placed on him that it’s practically falling off.

“Uh…” He looks around, clearly unsure what to say to the psychopath of a woman who just pushed him. “Sorry?”

I hate being touched. I hate it. It triggered an immense amount of discomfort. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick and I wish more than anything that I were back home living with my parents and far away from Niall, far away from Summer, and far away from this kid.

“Shit,” I rub at my eyes a few times. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, Rebecca, it’s okay not to wa—“

“–Who told you my name?”

His expression changes again, this time into something I can’t read. He no longer seems afraid of me, maybe he’s pitying me?

“Niall.”

My heart nearly collapses and falls out of my ass.

“You know him?” My body’s still shaking, the anger is a dull humming in my head now. The feeling of humiliation starts to arise now.

“Yeah, he was the one who told me you might be interested in being in our Musical Theatre club.”

My face flushes a ferocious shade of red.

“Guess he was wrong, hey?” He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his mauve button-up. I note the phrase ‘Things I can’ on the inside of his right arm. Pretentious. I imagine he has it just so people ask him what it means.

**Things he can**

  1. Fuck off and leave me alone




“I did Musical Theatre in high school,” I say, now digging my hands through my purse in search of a cigarette. Fuck. Forgot them in my dorm.

A rush of pleasant memories strike me. Niall played in the band for our high school musical. I could feel his eyes on me every night from the orchestra pit. I would sing my fucking heart out and he had to listen.

He raises his eyebrows at me, “What changed?”

“Nothing changed, I hated it.”

“Why did you hate it?”

“I don’t owe you a game of twenty questions,” I tug my scarf further up.

His lips press into a firm line. What a weird face. He’s like the halfway transformation of when you kiss the frog and he starts turning into the prince.

“No. You don’t.”

I let out a long sigh.

“Fine. I hated it because I can’t dance,” It’s partially a lie. I didn’t hate it. I just wouldn’t do musical theatre again if Niall weren’t there.

“Oh!” His face immediately returns to its previous state of happiness. This kid was a fucking energizer bunny today; It was almost as if I hadn’t shoved him, snapped at him, or sent him death glares, “Well, that’s good, because the dancing is pretty easy in Spring Awakening.”

I almost rip my hair out of my skull.

“I’m not interested!” I hiss, screwing my eyes shut briefly in frustration.

“Then why are you still here?” He bats his eyes at me. 

The questions sinks in and I freeze. 

“Because…You looked upset!” There’s a reason I’m a singer and not an actress.

He barks out a laugh, “I looked upset? Pretty sure you’re the more miserable of the two of us.”

The minute he says it, his jaw stiffens, clearly regretting his words and bracing himself for whatever insult I’m about to throw his way. Except, I can’t even find something to be mad at him about. 

“I guess so.” I mumble into my scarf, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Seriously. Why are you here?” He asks, with an expression that I think reads concern.

“I’m avoiding someone,” I admit.

“Yeah? Who?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I told you I don’t owe you twenty questions!” I growl.

“Aw, but we’ve already gotten at least three out of you. Why stop there?” He quips, a tiny grin begging to take his lips. 

I realize I’m sitting beside him on the bench, and maybe even smiling a bit.

“So,” He smirks, as if he’s won the battle.

“So.” I repeat quietly.

“Audition?” His stupid deformities on either side of his face reappear.

I roll my eyes, stand up, and walk the fuck away.


	4. The Bitch of Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She said give me that hand please  
> An itch you can't control  
> Let me teach you how to handle  
> All the sadness in your soul."

Summer is clutching onto my shoulder tightly, wobbling as she readjusts the straps of her ridiculous heels.

That's her thing: ridiculous heels. She was guaranteed to have one of every colour, style, and pattern. Flats were never an option with Summer. I admired her for enduring the kind of pain I could only take for ten minutes.

The ones she wore tonight were lime green and strappy.

I look over at her. She is red in the face and laughing. Surprisingly, so am I. I haven't laughed this hard all week.

“That’s so fucking funny, oh my God.” She releases my shoulder, planting herself carefully back onto the ground.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t just imagine that right?” I grin back, pushing my glasses back onto my nose. The heat of the room was causing me to sweat, and consequently my glasses were sliding down my nose because of it.

The two of us start back up again, giggling wildly.

“I like how after a five minute conversation he just sort of gave up and asked for a threesome. Like nope. Sorry. I’m done socializing. Time for sex.”

The two of us are wailing with laughter.

“Maybe he thinks we're Sims?”

Summer wipes underneath her eye where her eyeliner is beginning to smudge from tearing up.

“Right!? Like, welp, I’ve spent five minutes of conversation, time to fuck.” More tears begin to leak out, it's stupidly endearing.

“Hellooooooo, Ladies!” I feel the weight of an arm swing itself over my shoulder. I also smell the weight. It smells like sweat and booze. I catch a peak of him. He is dressed in the usual snapback, muscle shirt, and loose jeans. Boys are predictable.

He grins down at me.

Shit.

My heart is also predictable.

“What are you two fine specimens up to? I heard some laughing! That’s not allowed! Parties are serious events!” He practically sings. His blonde hair is swept back and spiked to perfection.

Summer, who is native to America, puts on her best Irish accent in an attempt to mimic him. “Well, me and me lass are just havin’ us a time! We seem to have lost our Lucky Charms!”

I roll my eyes, but he laughs like it's comedy gold.

“Your Lucky Charm is right here, baby.” Niall grins.

Sometimes I wish murder was legal.

“Becky, tell him what that dude said!” Summer laughs, shaking out her mane of hair.

I pretend not to hear her over the party music. I look around, avoiding her gaze, but with no actual intention of finding anyone I know.

My eyes come across Louis Tomlinson, some kid from my performance class. We barely spoke unless we were working on a piece together. Occasionally we waved at each other before or after class. 

I watch Louis chug back a massive amount of beer in one go. The host of the party, Katie, approaches him and begins to reprimand him. I find myself trying to decipher what the situation is about until finally I see Katie rip a cigarette from his hand and put it out on his white shirt. He frowns, but doesn’t fight back.

Next thing I know, I’ve brushed Niall’s arm off and am making my way towards Louis. I doubt Niall even noticed I left.

“You didn’t strike me as a troublemaker,” My voice comes out a little more sultry than initially intended.

Louis picks off the remaining ash from his shirt before quickly checking who I was. Jesus Christ. Talk about a pair of cheekbones. If he didn’t end up being a professional classical singer he could easily sign himself up for some boy band. 

“I’m not." He grunts, opening up a new can of Pabst, and returning his gaze to the ash stain. “No one cared to inform me that Katie doesn’t like people smoking in her house.”

“Most people don’t.” I laugh.

“Not true," He snaps defensively. "Germans don’t really mind.”

He’s too busy fiddling with the new addition on his shirt to make eye contact with me.

“Good thing were not in Germany.” I respond coyly.

He stops picking and looks up at me. 

“You’re kind of weird hot.” He states, then proceeds to return to his picking.

I’m drunk enough that the remark doesn’t startle me, instead I smile back at him.

“Thanks. You’re pretty normal hot.”

“I know.” He looks back up at me and winks.

“Figured.” I chuckled, brushing down my unruly short hair.

I save myself the embarrassment and don't wink back. Wouldn't want him to think I'm having a seizure.

He gestures his head towards some empty room on a couch. We make our way over. When I sit down, he hands me a can of Pabst to match his own.

“Are you ready for our evaluation on Friday?” Did I mention I'm an excellent conversationalist?

“Nope. Haven’t even looked at the sheet music.” He laughs, sweeping back some of the hair that's matted to his forehead. “Do you like Becca or Becky?”

“Becca. Summer mostly calls me Becky.” You know, when Summer actually talks to me. Or you know, when Summer has removed her head from Niall's ass.

“Summer? Like in the jazz piano class?” I try to read his tone. It wouldn't surprise me if he felt like most boys in our program. Everybody loved Summer.

“Yeah, her.” 

“She is…” He trails off and I brace myself for a slur of sexual comments. The two of us look over at Summer who is talking to a pair of rather muscular looking men. Her arm is linked closely with Niall’s. “…Hot. But like not in the way that I’m into.”

“What do you mean?" 

“I dunno, she’s too obvious. The whole blonde thing, the heels, the makeup, just…nah.”

“Oh. I guess.” We both take long sips from our drinks. Strange.

“Like…” He turns his body towards me. I notice that the stain from the cigarette is mostly gone. I also notice how nice his arms are. Louis was the opposite of Niall. Rugged, devilish, and...fit? My drunken self considers reaching over and squeezing his muscles. “…You’re like one of those broads that aren’t like the others. Guys love that shit. You’re weird and it gets us going.”

For a moment I feel happy, maybe even honored to have such an attractive guy say that about me. 

“That’s not really a compliment is it?” 

He slides a hand through his hair. “Whaddya mean?”

“Like, what’s wrong with being like other girls? Girls are cool. Girls are great.” I ramble defensively. 

He screws up his face, and crosses his eyes.“Okay, okay! I get it, sorrryyyyy.” He laughs, and it inevitably makes it hard for me to remain angry with him. 

There’s a small pause in our conversation, which allows me a second to see where Niall and Summer got off to. I can’t find them. Of course.

\---

“Rebecca.” He basically corners me in the kitchen.

“Let me guess, you like my shirt?” 

“Surprisingly, no. I’ve never heard of them.” 

“It’s not a them, it’s a she. Youtube her when you get home.” 

The weird tenor boy pulls out his phone. A flash goes off, nearly blinding me.

“What the fuck!?” I wince, blinking furiously in order for my eyes to readjust.

“I thought I’d take a picture, so I wouldn’t forget the name!” He smiles, little deformities on either side of his lips at work.

“Or you could just like…write it down like a normal person?” I snarl.

He laughs, his cheeks slightly pink from what I can only assume is the alcohol. Then again, the lighting in the place was absolute shit, so I very well could be imagining things.

“Why’re you here?” He asks. His hair is pulled back into its usual messy bun. He’s wearing some almost entirely unbuttoned shirt, and a pair of jeans tighter than mine. It’s no wonder he’s a high-ranged Tenor with pants that restricting. Around his neck dangles a cross necklace, it lands between two tattoos that I can’t seem to make out.

“I was checking if anyone left a cider or something in the fridge,” So that I can further drown my sorrows in booze.

“Any success?” He pulls himself up to sit on the counter.

I raise my cider to him. He grins and clinks his bottle with mine.

“What about you? Looking for a midnight snack?”

 “I saw you walk in here,” He says earnestly.

“Oh.”

I'm too drunk to think of anything witty. 

His expression is unwavering. What in the world did I ever do to deserve this? A strange realization hits me, and I feel myself flush.

“Uh…” I push my glasses back onto my bridge. “What’s your name?”

His unwavering expression cracks.

“Oh shit! I forgot! I never even introduced myself, I just assumed you knew," He hops off the counter even though he had just sat down and thrusts his hand out. “I’m Harry.”

I don’t shake his hand, but I give him a small smile. 

“Hi.”

\----

The night slips in and out of my fingers. I find myself sitting in the bathtub, while Louis sits on the sink counter, smoking a cigarette (despite Katie’s objections). He exhales, attempting his third smoke ring. All three of which have been failures.

“Have you ever just…forgotten to sleep? Like my friend said he did the other day, but that just sounds like a load of shit to me.”

The world is spinning.

“That sounds like total bullshit,” I reply, staring emptily at the ceiling. The world is tossing and turning beneath me. 

“Exactly,” He exhales one last time before throwing his cigarette out the window.

“This could be like that scene in the Heathers,” I suggest, peeling my gaze away from the ceiling and turning to him. He still looks good as ever. He seemed like the type that could roll out of bed and still be in good form.

“Yeah?” He hops off the sink counter and helps pull me up out of the bathtub. "Never seen it."

“Winona Rider throws a match outside of a window and it sets a trashcan on fire.” 

“Sounds like it would liven up the party, no?” He chuckles, and it's surprisingly sexy.

“I guess, yeah,” Is all I can manage as my cheeks flush.

The sound of a knock interrupts us.

“Yeah! We’ll be out in a minute!” Louis coughs out, fanning at the smoky air. “Fuck me, that better not be Katie or I can kiss my ass goodbye."

“I really need to piss, mate.”

It’s Harry. I would be able to recognize his dumb, slow voice anywhere.

“What’re you doin—“ Before Louis can get the sentence out, I open the door.

“Oh, it's both of you." Harry looks between the two of us, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Oh cut it out! We weren’t doing nothing, just having a smoke.” Louis whines from his seat on the tiled floor.

“He was, not me,” I mumble defensively.

Harry steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. The look on his face is mischievous.

The small room suddenly feels a lot smaller. Harry withdraws something from his wallet. I can smell the peppermint of his hair, and I can see his tattoos clearly. They're two birds. Next thing I know Louis is passing him a lighter. With a small flicker, I immediately can identify what they’re doing. I guess Harry didn't actually need to piss.

As Harry exhales, he gestures the joint my way. I gladly accept. When I pass it to Louis, Harry turns to me, his eyes slightly reddened already.

“You know what Spring Awakening is about, right?”

I’m too all over to be angry.

“Kind of, yeah."

“It’s about sex, sexuality, suicide, mental illness, learning disabilities, drugs…You know, all the good stuff,” He grins, his eyes lapping up any reaction I give him.

“Okay...?" I manage, passing the joint back to Harry.

“I think you’d be perfect for it,” He tells me after exhaling a cloud of smoke, it warms my face.

I’m unsure if it’s because I’m high or not, but my stomach flips wildly. 

“I told you, I’m a classical singer,” I didn't even know what I was so opposed to. I was just stubborn.

“It’s important to train your voice for many genres,” Louis mentions, surprising both Harry and I.

I grunt in agreement. He’s right.

“It’ll look great on a resume,” Harry suggests.

I grunt again.

“We’re even trying to get agents to come in for some of the performances. “ 

“Trying?” I repeat dryly. 

“Yes, trying,” He rolls his eyes.

I look over at Louis who is now too busy trying to squeeze a blackhead out in the mirror to be listening. Boys.

“Please. Just audition. Just try it out. See if you like it. What else are you doing with your time? Are you in any other clubs?” Each question sends my mind reeling, I was far too high and drunk to deal with this right now.

“Not all of us want to be in clubs. Some of us are occupied enough by our work.” 

“It’s first year. Trust me. You have no work, “ Harry snickers, cheeks flushed the colour of the devil's dick.

I sigh loudly just for effect. But I'm feeling easy going and as per usual, I'm a fucking pushover.

He holds his breath in anticipation. His eyes look especially green in comparison to the red that encircles them. I wasn’t sure if it was the mixture of substances or the lighting but he looked less froggy and more pretty than usual.

“Fine.”


	5. My Junk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I go up to my room, turn the stereo on.  
> Shoot up some you, in the you of some song"

I feel absolutely awful.

**Reasons As To Why I Feel Awful**

1)   The love of my life (for nearly 5 years now) is in love with my best friend. So not only is he not interested, but I have to watch him be interested in someone else. Right in front of me. 24/7.

2)   My science major roommate left her smelly lab coat ten seconds from my bed and I fear that I too smell of formaldehyde.

3)   I agreed to audition for a stupid musical in my drunken/high state and regret it immediately.

4)   I have a massive fucking hangover. Save me.

I groan, melting out of the warmth of my bed. I poke my phone, which lights up to reveal no texts, no facebook messages and about 2% battery left. Story of my life.

Best part was that it reads: 3:15 pm. I astound myself. I have wasted my entire day.

I genuinely can’t get myself up. I remain spread out across the floor, dressed in a ripped up ‘Dallas, Texas’ shirt and nude underwear. I run my hands along my prickly legs. I could stay here forever. Letting out a massive yawn, I roll onto my back. I feel like Snorlax.

Three knocks sound at my door. I grunt in response. Guests are not welcome when I’m hungover. At least not until I drink a litre of water, brush my teeth, and take a hangover dump. 

“Hello?” I call out, the loudness of my own voice actually worsens my headache.

“Hi!”

It’s Summer.

My heart jumps out of my chest.

Did I say something last night? Did someone say something to her? Does she know? I’m far too hung over to deal with this. Oh god, what if she wants a serious confrontation? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh g--

“Come in!” I squeak, still spilled out across my dorm room floor.

“It’s locked, you idiot,” I can almost hear her roll her eyes. I can tell by her tone of voice that she isn't mad though. Relief spreads over me.

“Right.” I mumble to no one in particular before maneuvering myself off the floor.

When I open up the door I am greeted by Summer laughing at me.

“You look like Jimmy Neutron!”

Despite drinking just as much as me last night, Summer is dressed to perfection. The only evidence that she might be tired or post-party is the slight smudge of liner that rings her green eyes.

“You look like Barbie,” I mutter.

She pokes out her tongue.

“I think that’s a compliment!” She sings, throwing her jean jacket onto my bed, and then taking a seat on my rug.

“Did I say you could sit down?” I poke my tongue out right back at her.

This brings her to a roaring laugh in a matter of seconds.

“So. Hey,” She gives me a million dollar smile as she pats the space in front of her, gesturing for me to sit down.

I do, but not without letting out a gigantic yawn.

“What time did you get home?”

“Four, maybe?” I take a wild guess. I barely even remember leaving the party, let alone getting home.

“Wow, no wonder you’re just getting up now. I think Niall and I left at 2?” She shrugs. “Maybe even earlier. Not sure.”

They left together.

“You have fun?” It sounds so forced coming out of my mouth.

“Yeah! How ‘bout you?” She picks off some of her black nail polish, leaving little flakes on my carpet. Thanks Summer. I’ll be sure to clean that up later.

I look back up at her face only to see she is staring at me expectantly.

“Uh…” My mom always said I had a way with words.

She is still grinning in a suspicious manner.

“Am I missing something?” I ruffle my own hair.

“I saw you chatting up Louis! I also saw you walk into a bathroom with him."

I feel my body tense. Oh god, what rumors had I started?

“Whoa. No, no, no!” I am absolutely scrambling. I know no matter what I say she won’t believe me. When Summer had her mind set, it was nearly impossible to change, “We literally just smoked up and talked.”

Summer wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“I swear!” I hiss. “He’s gorgeous, but I’m pretty sure it’s incest to fuck someone within the program.”

“I’m seeing Niall.”

I almost spit out an ‘I KNOW’, but bite my tongue instead.

“I mean like the singing program. Niall is guitar, you’re jazz piano."

“We’re only like distant cousin incest, right?” She jokes, batting her false lashes.

“Right.”

We exchange dumb grins.

“Okay, but, Tomlinson is gorgeous. If he ever asks you out promise me you won’t say no?”

I make the promise. But I know that that’s not truth. The idea of seeing someone other than Niall seemed wrong. It seemed like I was giving up on a life dream.

I depress myself.

“Your hair is growing out,” Summer remarks, touching and playing with my greasy mop.

“It’s too long,” I sigh, reaching for my glasses on the nightstand.

My glasses are not there.

“Fuck.”

\--

Next thing I know I’m standing in front of Katie’s door with a throbbing headache, gravity defying hair, and the ugliest pair of pants I own on. I look like Harry Potter before he got hot. My head also feels like I have a lightening bolt scar and Voldemort is near.

The only thing that has changed in the past minute is I am still standing outside of Katie’s but this time I’m laughing at my own joke. Good one, Becca. Thanks Becca.

The door swings open to reveal Harry.

I practically shit myself in surprise. Wait, what?

He looks at me blankly and then steps back inside. 

He returns seconds later with my glasses in his hand.

“Thanks,” I choke out hoarsely, still lost.

He smiles back at me with his dumb, deformed dimples. His hair is wet and the smell of peppermint is wafting into my nose. His shirt is almost entirely unbuttoned, allowing me to see both of his nipples (Am I imagining a third?). It’s amazing how quickly someone can make you feel like a pervert. Maybe Harry enjoyed making everyone stare at his nipples. Maybe he’s an exhibitionist.

“You hung over?” He grins. I assume he’s choosing to ignore my creepy gazing at his chest.

“No, just trying out a new fashion trend,” I deadpan, ruffling my hair into a further state of destruction.

He laughs, all bright and cheery. Which is awfully annoying at this moment.

“Wait,” My breath hitches in my throat.

He blinks, waiting for me to finish my thought.

“Are you…” I can’t even bring myself to ask the question without sounding like an idiot.

He raises an eyebrow before catching on.

“OH.  Noooonononoono. Katie and I are roommates. You didn't know, I guess.”

“Well,” I breathe out. “Cool.”

“Why’d you want to know?” A weirdly cocky grin slides itself onto his face.

“Because…you’re in her house?” I raise an eyebrow, not giving him whatever stupid reaction he was looking for.

After a moment of consideration he nods in approval.

“Yeah, there are four of us.” He continues.

Another thought pops into my head.

“Wait. Question.”

“Yeah?” He leans against the door frame, running his hand through his hair. Is he posing…? I think he’s posing. He’s definitely posing.

“You smoked with us in the bathroom yesterday.” I place my glasses back onto my face. They're smudged, but I disregard it.

“Yup,” He tucks his arms behind his back.

“You also know that Louis smoked in the bathroom...” I recall.

“Yes ‘mam.”

“I thought Katie didn’t want anyone smoking inside?”

He places a single finger against his lip and sends a wink my way.

I’m oddly taken aback by his actions. That was the first hint of "explicit sexuality" he had ever thrown my way. I wasn’t particularly sure what to think of it, or even what to think of him.

My initial reaction is to feel repulsed. Sexuality is…scary for me. Not to mention overwhelming. Any sexuality that involved someone other than me and my hands often brought a sense of anxiety over me. Unless I was drunk, I am too flustered to deal with people hitting on me or anything of the like.

He frowns.

“What’s with the face?”

“Nothing. Just hung over. See you later,” I snap curtly.

“Well, okay then!” He lets out a chuckle that feels more forced than usual. “Bye Becca.”

“Bye...Harry,” His name still unfamiliar on my tongue.

That dumb smile slides across his face again. He waves goodbye at me and shuts the door.

My body almost immediately relaxes. Something about that kid puts me on edge. I will never think the same of peppermint.

I turn around, bracing myself for the walk home. It was a bit chilly outside s—

“Hey Becca.”

I look back, only to see Harry peeking his face out from behind the door.

“Uh…yeah?”

“See you tomorrow.”

“What…?”

He passes me a flier from his crack in the door.

Fuck. Auditions. Right.

\--

A majority of Saturday night includes me memorizing a shitty monologue I found from the Internet, and forcing Summer to help me practice my song.

It’s almost 11:30 when Niall pops his head into the practice room.

“Helllooooo.” He steps in, two coffees in hand. He’s wearing a cardigan we bought together in grade twelve. I remember wearing it home one night after a barbecue that one of our friends hosted. I kept it until he remembered I had it. Two weeks of smelling the shit out of that ugly thing.

“Thank you!” Summer sighs, as he leans in to kiss her on the cheek. I dart my eyes away and try to channel happy thoughts.

**Things To Be Happy About**

1)   My hangover feels a bit better

2)    

3)    

4)    

5)   Good one, Becca.

I take my coffee from his hands and stare at it.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m freaking out here.” I finally say, attempting to pass off as normal.

“Can I hear what you got so far?” He pulls up a chair, essentially giving me no choice.

“Er…” I groan, looking over at Summer.

“You need to practice without the lyrics, anyway.” She notes, pulling her hair into a messy (and by messy I mean perfect) bun.

“Fuck. Yeah. Ok.” I sigh.

[ The piano starts.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldxc0jogHBQ)

When it ends, I shift my weight back and forth uncomfortably, avoiding Niall's eyes.

“I kind of fucked up a bit at th—“

“Shut up, Becky. That was great considering you literally threw this together in a few hours. The vocal program is lucky to have you.”

The sudden stream of compliments that escapes his lips leave me whirling. He never complimented me like this. For a tiny, teeny, small moment I have an awful thought...That maybe him being with Summer was helping him realize he had liked me all along?

My stomach begins to backflip.

“Harry is going to love you.”

And there it is.

 


	6. Touch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where I go, when I go there
> 
> No more weeping anymore
> 
> Only in and out your lips
> 
> The broken wishes, washing with them, to shore."

“Hi, My name is Rebecca Zhu.”

I rock my weight back and forth.

I pray this whole experience will be over quick.

“I’m Liam! And this is Sophia! We’re the co-directors!”

I can’t see a goddamn thing past the stage lights but I nod and pretend that I’m happy and not completely blinded.

I am also pretending to be happy that I am auditioning.

Maybe this is acting.

I can’t even begin to explain the rate my heart is running at. I look and feel like an idiot. I dressed myself in one of Summer’s loose tank tops and yoga pants. My body is boyish enough as it is, and this was doing no favours for anyone. Then again, the characters of Spring Awakening are all around the age of fourteen. I’d fit right in.

“Who will you be auditioning for?”

My breath hitches in my throat.

“Um.”

I can hear the two of them laughing from their seats. I want to scream at them and tell them to shut up and panic and rip my hair out, but instead I clench my jaw. I breathe out, trying to let the feeling pass.

“Uh…”

The characters’ names become a blur to me.

“Isla?” I guess, my mind whirling with nerves.

“You mean, Ilse?”

“Yeah,” I wish a noose would just drop from the ceiling right now. Kill me. 

I was auditioning for Ilse because she was only in a few songs. It was my sort of "Thanks Harry, but no thanks, Harry" message. Hopefully this would satisfy his weird froggy needs. Anyway, according to the character description online she “comes from an abusive home and runs away to become a Bohemian”. All of her solos had a folk-esque sound to them. Easy enough.

“You’d have to grow your hair out for the role. You understand that right? We can’t really afford to get wigs.”

“Right. Yeah,” I shrug, sashaying my foot back and forth along the stage. I doubt I'll even get the role so who the hell cares?

I had never stepped into the theatre building of the campus before, but I was immediately stunned by how much money the program was receiving in comparison to the music one. The amount of practice space, costumes, and sets they had must have cost the school a fortune.

“Alright! Give us a go,” The mysterious voice of Liam calls out. He sounds too chipper for my liking.

I open my mouth to begin my monologue, but the noise of the auditorium door opening keeps me from continuing.

I hear footsteps running down the aisle and up onto the stage.

There stands Harry. His eyes are a ferocious shade of green under the lights. His jaw is clenched, and a slight sheen of sweat reflects on his forehead.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He was late? He was supposed to be here?

I swallow.

“Hey,” He mouths to me, before turning to face ‘Liam’ and ‘Sophia’.

I find myself whipping my gaze to Harry, then back at the blinding light, then back at Harry. I’m confused. What in the hell was happening?

“Ok…” I hear Liam chuckle, followed by a giggle from Sophie. “Take that script from Harry and just give us a cold read, Rebecca.”

“A…cold read?” I fumble with the sentence, my eyebrows furrowing in frustration. I wish I had stayed home. I wish I hadn’t said yes.

I look back up at Harry who almost immediately picks up on my discomfort.

“She’s not a theatre kid, guys,” Harry calls back in a lighthearted tone. He shrugs off his plaid button up to reveal a plain black T-shirt underneath.

“Just like…a read through of something you’ve never seen before…”

“Such as the script to Spring Awakening,” Harry grins, placing a few pages in my hand. I consider ripping them individually to shreds.

I’m going to actually blow chunks everywhere. I plan on directing them at Harry. I was no longer nervous. Instead, my brain had shut down and I felt as though my chest were giving in on me.

I suddenly came to the impression that they were maybe trying to mock me. Maybe this was their idea of good fun, initiating vocal kids who were a year below them. Maybe they had looped me into some elaborate trap so they could watch the tape later and have a good laugh.

Harry places a warm hand on my bare shoulder, shaking me out of my thoughts.

“If you’re not comfortable you are always welcome to leave,” He whispers to me. I ignore his gaze, and stare down at the script. We all know that's not really true. He had put so much pressure on me to audition, so why now would he say that? I open it up to the first page.

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Just hungry. Can we hurry up?”

Harry pulls his hand back defensively.

“Rebecca, if you would read the lines of Wendla, please,” Sophia's disembodied voice calls out.

“Sure.”

The first line confuses the absolute shit out of me. I look up at Harry, who lets out a bark of a laugh at my expression. He moves himself towards my side of the stage in such an awkward fashion he resembles a collapsing beanstalk.

“It says Melchior Gabor. That’s the character I’m playing,” He states quietly to me.

I nod my head, my entire body vibrating with nerves.

He returns to his previous spot, takes a breath, then proceeds in such a way that it suggests he’s entering the scene.

“Melchior Gabor?” I question, trying to appear more physically relaxed than my mental state.

“Wendla Bergman?” Two small little dimples appear on either side of his dumb frog face. It’s slight, but something is different, Harry is someone else. He is Melchior. “Like a tree-nymph fallen from the branches. What are you doing—alone up here?”

The language of the piece is awkward, and my brain is working a mile per minute trying to make it seem as natural as possible when it leaves my mouth.

“Mama’s making May wine. I thought I’d surprise her with some woodruff,” What in the fuck was woodruff? “And you?”

“This…This is my favourite spot.”

I try to genuinely listen to what Harry is saying, instead of just reading off a page. I can feel the a-little-too-lengthy pauses between lines, but it feels more comfortable knowing we’re having a conversation than a robotic chat.

“Oh,” I begin to step back. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Please.”

My body halts. I look like an idiot. I look like an idiot. I can’t act. I can’t.

“So…how have you been doing?” Harry’s garbage green eyes bore into me. The stage lights light him up like some sort of Grecian God.

Pretend I never thought that.

“Well, this morning was wonderful,” I squeak out. Perhaps Liam and Sophia will mistake my nervousness as getting into character. “Our youth group brought bas---“

“Good stuff, good stuff! Go to the end! Harold, start at the ‘Wendla Bergman’ line right after the ‘Indeed’.”

I barely have enough time to take in the fact that Harry was just addressed as Harold as we shuffle through our scripts. I feel that horrible sadness overtake me again. They hate me. They hate me. They hate me. Just tell me to go home.

“You good?”

I look up. He’s not talking about my feelings, he’s talking about if I found the right page. He’s swept back his hair into a bun while I wasn't looking. I want to slap him into oblivion I’m so frustrated and upset at him for convincing me to do this.

“Sure.”

Harry becomes Melchior once more.

“Wendla Bergman, I have known you all these years, and we’ve never truly talked.”

He begins to step closer to me; I refrain from running off the stage and hold my ground.

“We have so few opportunities. Now that we’re older,” I try to place what these words might mean to Wendla: she is repressed, innocent, and curious. She misses her youth when it was simple, but also wishes to discover things that aren’t taught to her in school…If you catch my drift.

“True. In a more progressive world, of course, we could all attend the same school. Boys and girls together. Wouldn’t that be remarkable?”

Harry steps even closer. Despite the fact that he had stood even closer to me in the past, his presence feels extremely immense and effective at this moment.

Instead of the peppermint I usually smell, it’s cinnamon.

My face flushes. I hope I can pass it off as a “character choice” and not the fact that I was an absolute creep. He’s changed shampoos. I actually noticed that he has changed shampoos. Good one, Becca.

Note to self: punch your own face before bed. Repetitively.

I look back down at the script. I pull myself away from him self-consciously as instructed.

“What time is it?”

Is Harry even acting? He doesn’t remove his eyes from me. He knows the script better than I previously assumed, I guess.

“Must be close to four.”

“Oh, I thought it was later. I paused and laid so long in the moss by the stream, and just let myself dream…I thought it must be…later.”

“Then can’t you sit for a moment?” Harry takes a seat on the stage. “When you lean against this oak and stare at this cloud, you start to think…”

I swallow. His green eyes scan around the roof of the auditorium. For a moment I truly believe there are clouds.

“Hypnotic things,” He finishes.

“I have to be back before five,” I sputter out, half-intentional.

“But, when you lie here, such a strange wonderful peace settles over you…” He ignores my intense gaze. 

I slowly bring myself down to his level. Harry turns to me and a wave of comfort hits me. Why did he ask me to do this?

“Well, for a moment maybe.”

Before I can even exhale, Liam calls for Harry to get off the stage, makes me sing my audition song (which is a blur) and then kicks me out because it’s time for the next audition. The whole time I see the outline of Harry’s head around the fifth row.

I almost sprint my way out of the theatre building in near tears, pulling out a smoke from my emergency pack.

He doesn’t even call out for me as I walk away. 

\---

“Ooo. Bad, bad girl.”

I spin around to see Louis, dressed in a light jean jacket, a graphic t-shirt, and dark jeans. He looks like a modern day Outsiders character. 

“I see you’re more dangerous then you let on,” He eyes my smoke, taking a drag of his own.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I’ll bet you are,” He looks me over. He is completely aware that I notice him doing so. I regret wearing this crappy outfit. I regret a lot of things today, actually.

“Smoking is bad for you,” I smile back. My sudden confidence surprising even me.

He grins, stepping closer to me, exhaling some smoke on my face, and then giving me a disgustingly dirty grin.

“You’re a dick,” But my words betray me as a tiny smile creeps onto my lips.

In an ideal world, this would be perfect.

Louis’ nature was toxic in combination with my own. Him flirting and teasing me boosted my ego, but I never had the intentions of following through. Louis’ sexuality and self-confidence was intimidating. But sex in general had that effect on me.

I had hooked up with a couple people in high school, and even had a few boyfriends and one girlfriend, but I always managed to break up with them before they could even sneak their hand down my pants.

I tried to disregard my discomfort many times, and once was able to accomplish having sex by just meeting up with some guy from online. I did it just to lose my virginity and get the stupid experience over with. Predictably, the interaction was mediocre, and I never saw him again.

I tried again in the summer before first year with this girl who worked at Starbucks with me. This time it was a bit more comfortable, but perhaps that was because I knew her a bit better. This was also the summer of 'Becca Wants to Die', so a lot of my decisions were hazy and not pre-meditated at all. I noticed my pattern of seeking sex when I was in extreme emotional pain.

I wasn’t necessarily repulsed by sex, but it overwhelmed me. The concept of sex was nice, but the actual doing of it wasn’t. I never came, I never stopped feeling nervous, I never enjoyed touching someone else. It never really felt right.

Oddly enough, as if it were some sick joke, I could watch porn, masturbate or read erotica for days. But the idea of being close to a flawed, real life, breathing body with feelings and thoughts, sent my head into a tizzy.

I imagine if I wanted to have sex again I’d have to be drunk. Or maybe having a mid-life crisis where my entire identity changes. Or maybe with Niall.

Hilariously enough, Niall was the only person I had ever told about my feelings on sex.

It nags at me too. I shouldn't have told him. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason he’s not interested in me (though I have a few other theories: he only likes white girls, he only likes girls with boobs, he only likes girls who are pretty, etc). Maybe I fucked it all up. Maybe the fact that sex and human connection was complicated for me turned him off. Instead of blaming him for his lack of understanding or interest, I blame myself for the fact that I can’t be normal.

But Louis doesn’t need to know any of that.

“You’re a wolf dressed in sheep skin, Becca.”

“I’d say the opposite is true for you,” Ugh. I feel dirty even saying this shit. What was I even doing?

He gives a final exhale and throws his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his red toms. I do the same.

“Did you just audition?” He follows up his questions with a powerful cough into his sleeve.

My eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Yeah, actually. Did you?”

“Yup. Got looped into it by Katie.”

“Is Katie apart of this?”

“Well, she’s doing costumes, and auditioning for a part,” He laughs. “They need all the help they can get.”

“No kidding.”

“How do you think you did?”

“Awful. You?”

“Surprisingly good.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I did musical theatre in high school. You can even call me Danny Zuko if you like.”

“I’m going to have to pass.”

We share a laugh. His cheekbones. His. Fucking. Cheekbones.

“Beeecky!”

Two strong arms wrap around me. Summer could squeeze me harder than any other human. I imagine I looked like a squeaky toy with my eyes bugging out of my head.

“Hi Summer!” I wheeze out as she lets go of me. Regaining my breath, I turn to face her.

“Hi Summer,” Louis grins.

Summer completely ignores him, not even looking in his direction. Which...was very not Summer-like...

“How’d it go?” She takes a hold of my hands. Her touch, at this very moment, is unwelcome. 

“Um," The immediate rush of feelings return. They were only eradicated briefly by my cigarette and talk with Louis. I realize I’m welling up, “Can we talk about it later?”

Summer’s expression changes to one of concern, but she nods in agreement and chooses not to pry.

“Whoa there. Are those waterworks I see?” Louis chides, his voice especially raspy.

What happens next takes me completely by surprise.

“Fuck off, Tomlinson. Maybe lay off the smoking and you might actually sound good,” Summer scowls, her painted neon pink lips snarling. Her green eyes drilling holes into his.

Both Louis and I fall dead silence. What in the hell was going on here?

Summer tightens her grip on my hand and begins to pull me along.

“Eleanor says hi,” She snaps back at him, her ponytail of perfectly straightened locks hitting me directly in the face as she turns around. 

I look back at Louis but I’m not wearing my glasses. All I can see is his ridiculous cheekbones and incredibly bright blue eyes.

\---

“Hello?” I mutter into my phone, adjusting my towel. My roommate shoots me a dirty look. She’s studying. Per usual.

Before I even get a response, I put the phone to my shoulder, in order for the caller to not hear as I address my shit-head of a roommate.

“I’m sorry, I would step outside, but I’m still in my towel,” I explain in a semi-apologetic tone to her.

She sends me another dirty look. Nice. I forbid myself from rolling my eyes even though I desperately want to.

“Tell them to call you back,” She quips, turning back to her textbook. 

I allow myself to roll my eyes now that she isn't looking. Go to the fucking library.

The dorm experience can eat my ass.

“Sorry, hi, can I ask you to call me back in a few minutes?” I use the voice my Mom had taught me to use when taking a phone call on the home line.

“I promise I’ll be quick.”

It’s Harry.

“Um...” Is all that comes out of my mouth. Good one, Becca. “Ok?” I manage, fixing my towel so that I don’t reveal my lady parts to my roommate.

“I think you we’re really good today.” Great. Thanks for calling. 

“You think?” I repeat, hoping that he can hear the irritation in my tone.

“Well, yeah. And really, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I overheard Liam and Sophia in the living room and they s—“

“You live with them too?” I ask out of genuine curiosity.

“Yup!”

I roll my eyes. I hope he can hear that too.

“It’s wrong to snoop, Harry.”

“I know that, Becky.” He says my name in such a way that I feel the need to pull my towel closer to my body. “Now will you let me finish?”

“Fine.”

Another glare from my roommate. The minute she looks away, I pull another ugly face at her.

“I overheard them saying they want you to go for a callback.”

I fall silent. Unsure what to say.

“For Isla?”

“You mean, Ilse?” He laughs, and I wish I could pull the towel even closer to my skin.

“No, Wendla.” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. “They say your singing is strong, but your acting needs work.”

I’m unsure whether to cry or celebrate. This whole thing still feels like one cruel joke.

“I want you to have this, Becky. So I set up a little meet up with one of my drama friends so that you could go over your callback scene together.”

Before I even let the thought sink in, my body rejects it.

“I…don’t think I’m comfortable with that…could you maybe tell Sophia and Liam that I’m not interested in doing this, and thank them for taking the time to audition me and m---“

“Becky, listen, if y—“

“It’s Becca, Harry. “ I spit out venomously.

All I hear is the buzz of dead air from the other side. What was it about this kid that drove me up the wall?

“Becca.” He says, starting again. “I think this could help you.”

“One lesson? I doubt it.”

“No, the musical itself.” He corrects me.

I picture the way his mouth moves when he says certain words: “foohk meh” or “luhckeh” or “muhm”.

“How would it help me, huh? I’d be under more pressure, stuck with a bunch of pretentious egotists and probably embarrassing myself.”

“I think this would be good for you.”

“How do you know that?” I furrow my eyebrows, a habit my step-dad addressed as "ugly".

“Because I used to be like you.”

“What.” It comes out more as a statement than a question. Excuse me?

My roommate sighs loudly, closing her textbook with a slam. 

“I’m going to the library.” She says, a little too snottily.

Fuck you, you smell like dead frogs.

“You remind me of myself. In first year.” He continues. 

I silently pray that my phone would just run out of batteries and hang up on him because I did not have the courage at this very moment to do it myself.

“What exactly were you like?” I can’t even bring myself to be angry, anymore.

“Depressed, lonely, disconnected.”

“Is that what you think of me?” I ask. 

“I think that’s a part of you.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a part, it was entirely me. I always felt lonely, I always felt depressed, I almost always was disconnected.

“Do you want to know what I think of you?”

No response. He’s waiting. He probably knows what I’m going to say.

“I think you’re a fucking asshole.”

I hang up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you feel something is missing or any thoughts at all!


	7. The Word of Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "O, I’m gonna be wounded
> 
> O, I’m gonna be your wound
> 
> O, I’m gonna bruise you
> 
> O, you’re gonna be my bruise."

This was the first night in weeks Niall and I had spent time alone together, and I was relishing every moment. Things easily fell back into place: we smoked up, did some jazz improv until the neighbours complained (the one that wasn't Summer), cooked, chilled, and I had never felt happier to have him to myself. Except, you know, he was hanging with me because Summer was busy, but, well, I take what I can get.

I lay my head in his lap with an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m fucking stuffed. I’m ready for the slaughter.” I groan, patting my stomach.

“Your breath smells like garlic.” His face crinkles, but all I can see is the little mark on his chin from where I’m sitting. It's annoyingly endearing.

“Now whose fault is that, you git?” I grin back, brushing my bangs upwards and letting them fan out against his basketball shorts.

“Listen here, missy, you asked for me to make you food.” His shoulders rise as he lets out a laugh. It’s so intense it actually manages to vibrate my head. His nose scrunches up right where his freckles are. Disgustingly cute, Horan.

“I didn’t ask for this life!” I sigh dramatically, causing Niall to pull his face even further back in disgust.

“You reek!” He chuckles.

“You’re a dick.”

In a matter of seconds I watch his eyes change from sheer delight to serious.

“Becks…” He starts, his voice more hushed than usual.

I sit up, brushing my Jimmy Neutron hair into place. My anxiety is pounding so loudly in my head I can barely sit myself up properly.

He’s staring at me now in a way I’ve never seen before. I try to get a read on him, but I simply can’t. His eyes reflect some sort of distaste or maybe….anger? Is he angry with me? I try to rationalize it. After all these years of knowing him I’d never seen a face like this. I try to run over what I may have done wrong in the past two months, but it’s too overwhelming and it makes me nauseous.

So instead, I look at his hands.

I remember when he pushed me a little too hard in Year 10 and I landed face first. I remember when he passed me my first joint. I remember when he pulled me by my arm from that shitty party telling me that ‘no one can treat my best friend like that, no one!’ and he laced his fingers with mine. Those were his hands.

“Becks.” He says again.

I can’t stop looking at his hands. There’s some dirt collected under his fingernails.

“Becca, look at me.”

Despite not wanting to, I do.

“Are you ok?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s fidgeting with the end of his shirt. “You’ve been outright weird these past two months.”

“Really?” I ask like I didn’t already know.

“Yeah, what’s happenin’?”

I want to scream.

I’ll tell you what’s fucking happening, you stupid fucking tosser, I’ve been fucking shafted! You’ve replaced me with someone who I can’t even hate! I can’t get mad at her; I can’t get mad at you, so I’m fucking mad at myself. What’s fucking happening is I have fucking loved you for five fucking years! I have fucking had dreams where we fill out tax forms together! And why is it the only fucking time you see me is when she’s busy doing something!? Why is it the only time you look my way in class is when she goes to the bathroom!? Why the FUCK is it that the only time you have given two shits about me in the past two months is NOW. You haven’t asked me how my day has been in three weeks. You haven’t asked me to hang out in four. THAT’S WHAT’S FUCKING HAPPENING.

But instead, I sniff casually, and say:

“I dunno, just school stressing me out. Plus, that audition really did a number on me.”

Good one, Becca.

“Ah.” He says softly.  But he hesitates, which lets me know that the conversation is nowhere near over. “See, you’ve been talking lot to Tomlinson. And I know it ain’t none of my business, but I’ve heard a real load of shit about him.”

I raise my eyebrows in false surprise. Does he think I’m stupid or something? Louis’ middle name might as well be ‘Danger’. 

“Yeah, like what?”

He runs his fingers through his stupid coiffed hair, his stupid pretty eyes looking at the ceiling as if he were to find the answer there.

“Summer told me ‘bout his ex-girlfriend. And she promised me not to say anythin’, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I told you.”

Well, yeah.

“Basically, he fucked and chucked her, yeah?” He looks at me as if I should have a response to his rhetorical question of sorts. I hated that I loved when he ended sentences with ‘yeah?’.

I nod, but I’m quite sure my lack of interest is perfectly visible on my face.

“So you’ll back off then?” His eyebrows furrow with a great amount of unnecessary concern.

“Uh…I guess? I mean, I was never really ‘on’, so I can’t really get ‘off’, ye know?”

He gives me a look identical to the ones’ my father would throw my way when I was young.

“Still. I don’t want to see you in trouble.”

Listen Niall, If I wanted a Dad I would have chased his car down the driveway in Year 3.

He can clearly see the nonchalance leaking out of my pores. He sighs, rolling his green eyes dramatically in the process.

“What?” I retort.

“I’m looking after you. Can you just pretend you’re listening at least, yeah?”

Yes, Dad. Sorry, Dad. I want to fucking rip off his arm and beat him with his severed limbs.  This whole conversation revolved around the fact that Tomlinson did not get the Holy Horan Seal of Approval and to be quite frank, I couldn’t care less.

“I am listening. I just don’t know why we’re talking about this, and not watching Space Jam.”

A slow smile makes its way onto his face.

“You know me too well.”  The haze of concern in his eyes is replaced with happiness once more.

I look down at his hands.

\---

I know I said Niall and Summer drive me crazy, but in this specific occasion I wish they were here.

Music History was an absolute bore. I would rather watch the world turn than be in this class. It was one of the two classes where all of the first year music programs would shuffle into a smoldering auditorium and listen to an old man talk to a board. Thank God that the homework essentially required not listening, and just reading the textbook at home. Easy enough. Except for the fact that we were marked for attendance.

But today, my issues were different. I was less concerned about the lesson and more concerned about the boy sitting five rows down from me.

Mr. Cinnamon Frog Prince himself.

A pang of guilt hits me in my gut as I recall the last conversation we shared.

I try to sneak a look at his face when I make for a bathroom break mid-lecture. I specifically go out of my way to walk down the side of the auditorium that is closest to his seat.

When I do catch a glimpse of him, his face is stone cold. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes catch in direct contact with mine.

I stumble slightly and nearly topple down the steps.

The professor actually halts the lesson to ask if I’m all right. I mumble a bunch of incoherent syllables in his general direction and book it to the bathroom in embarrassment.

Froggy Prinze Jr. looks pissed. Hah.

Actually, I think I should work on that one.

\--

I nearly pull his shirt off of him after class. Not in a sexy way, more like in a ‘PLEASE STAY HARRY I’M SORRY HARRY’ way.

He lets out a yelp, and a singular button pops off of his shirt.

“FUCK.” I hiss under my breath, diving for that tiny bugger of a thing.

The two of us bend down to grab it at once, and like some cartoon we knock heads.

I can only imagine how stupid we look: a small, half-Asian girl in near tears, and a beautiful frog boy with his shirt basically torn off just sitting on the pavement. In addition, there’s the entire first year music program stepping over and around us as we remain splayed across the ground. 

Wait. Did I say beautiful? I meant interesting-looking.

“Are you trying to ruin my week or something?” He grumbles, wincing as he picks his button up from off of the ground.

“Nah, was hoping more for your month.”

He bites his cheek to suppress a smile and I consider throwing a ‘he-doesn’t-hate-me“ party I’m so goddamn thrilled.

He doesn’t offer to help me off the ground, but he doesn’t necessarily run away, which is also a great sign.

When I stand up I give him a tight-lipped grin.

“Hi.” His voice cracks a bit.

“Hi.” I imitate his pubescent voice.

He frowns, followed by clearing his throat.

“Hi.” He says again, this time with a low ‘manly’ voice.

I don’t even try to pull off that one.

Little dimples form.

“Say it.” He orders.

“Uh…”

He gestures with his hand for me to continue.

“Vampire?”

“No. The other thing.”

“Uh...I like your butterfly tattoo?”

He rolls his eyes back.

“Thank you, but no.”

“I’m sorry.” I finally huff, giving in. “I was an outright dick.”

“Thank you.” The corners of his lips rise with his statement.

“I’m also sorry about your shirt. I can sew it back if you want?”

And then the weirdest shit happens.

Before I can even blink my vision is clouded with green and my nose is filled with the smell of cinnamon.

Harry has thrown his fucking shirt at me.

“What the fuck!?” I screech like a banshee, removing his shirt from my line of sight. “Can you wait!?”

His eyes are electric and his face is alight with joy. He’s laughing at me. The prick is having a blast watching me panic.

I find myself taking in his bare chest, which is littered with tattoos, and obviously is…quite…hmm…

“Aren’t you not allowed to be shirtless at school? You know, ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’?” I’m desperately trying to tear my eyes away from him.

He shrugs, drinking in the fact that I cannot stop drooling over his ‘V’ line.

The concept of sex deters me, but goddammit he was admittedly…just…

“Give it back to me tomorrow night.” He drawls, shaking out his hair, only to sweep it back seconds later in that ritual-esque fashion of his.

“Tomorrow?” I stammer like the school girl that I am. For a second, I think he’s pulling a fast one with me, like one of those lines you see in Rom-Coms.

“Yup!” He nods. Still. Shirtless. URGH. “Drama building. 304. At 7.”

He starts to walk away, leaving me staring at the dimples on his back. I start to feel nauseous at the weird amount of confidence this kid had. How was he not concerned what I thought of his body? Or what others thought? Why was he not cold? Why didn’t he wait until he got home? Why did he think this would make me want to audition?

“Wait!”

He doesn’t wait.

“Just because I said I’m sorry does NOT mean I’m going to your…thing! Besides, you told Sophia and Liam that I’m not int—“

“Oops! I forgot to tell them!” He calls back, but he’s at too far of a distance for me to smack him upside the head.

My senses are wired. My nose is burning with cinnamon, my face is burning with blush, and my eyes are burning with stupid dumb frog boy.

\--

I dream about Niall that night.

He runs his tongue along my neck, leaving goose bumps in his wake. He nips at my skin, growling.

His fingers leave bruises they are clutching so tight. I want his hands everywhere: my ass, my thighs, my throat.

He brushes his parted lips across my right nipple and I feel electric. The pit of my stomach lurches.

Knuckle deep inside of me, he grips my throat.

I splutter and cough, but he doesn’t stop. I don’t ask him to stop. I don’t want him to stop.

“Lovely, lovely, girl.” He mutters, his accent thick, his warm breath hitting my face. Blood is rushing to my head.

“Fuck.” I manage to croak out in pleasure.

The lurch in my stomach is so immensely powerful I feel like sobbing.

It’s so good. So, so, so good. I want it to last forever.

But I need air.

I tap his arm to let go. I try to squeak out a ‘stop’. I try to reach out to get his attention, but he’s too busy putting himself inside of me.

I try to cry. But I can’t even do that.

\--

I awake with a start, my comforter stuck to my sweaty face,

I sit up and inhale deeply.

And exhale.

My pajama pants are fucking soaking.

And inhale.

Since when was I into that kind of shit?

And exhale.

No more alternative porn for a while, maybe.

And…I’m late for Music Theory.


	8. The Dark I Know Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is a part I can’t tell
> 
> About the dark I know well."

He grabs me from behind by the waist. I practically jump out of his arms in order to avoid any physical contact. To no one’s surprise, one of my least favourite experiences was strangers touching me.

I wince, turning around to take a peak at his expression. After all, he may have been a stranger, but he was damn good looking.

He is unsettlingly calm.

“Sorry. I should have asked for consent.” His face crinkles into a soft smile.

I look over at Harry, my jaw dropped, my eyes wide. He sends me back a puzzled look, one eyebrow raised.

“I…love that you just did that.” I stutter out, fidgeting with the ends of another tank top I had borrowed from Summer. This one featured the pattern of a ‘rustic’, ‘edgy’ American flag.

A dopey, goofy grin makes it’s way across my face.

“Hmm?” He scratches at his stubble slowly, pouting out his lips. Is it cliché to write luscious lips? I feel like it is.

“You just apologized for touching me non-consensually. That’s awesome. Thank you.” I wonder if he can see the drool pouring endlessly out of my mouth like a waterfall. I wonder if he knows he looks like he’s sculpted.

“You shouldn’t celebrate him doing something everyone should do. Like, I’m a feminist, and girls always freak out when I tell them that. Sorry, but everyone should be, no need to give me your congratulations.” Harry states calmly but there’s an undertone of venom that is directed towards me.

“Nice, humblebrag, Styles.” I laugh, trying to brighten the mood.

His eyes narrow bitterly.

 “Listen, Mate, you can leave if you have anything you need to do. She seems to be picking up real quick.” Zayn nods towards Harry, as he walks over to the side of the room to fetch his water bottle. He’s dressed in a loose white tank top that shows off his collarbones and excessive amounts of tattoos. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, and his hair is swept back into a ponytail: this man was everyone’s wet dream. “I can read for Melchior. You look knackered. Go home.”

“I’m good.”

Zayn shrugs, and continues on with the sexiest lesson to man.

I mean it was only sexy because he was sexy, not because the actual lesson itself was sexy, but you get my point.

Whenever he approached me to correct my dialogue choices or make me stop fidgeting with my shirt, I could smell the musky smoke that remained on his clothes and skin. The smell of old smoke was never a nice one, but this man was an exception.

Zayn was so attractive that I actually had .2 seconds of forgetting Niall existed. Only to remember he was very much real, and constantly breaking my heart because I was definitely still in love with that git.

But Zayn was a pleasant distraction. Not to mention a nice one. Whenever I did something that ‘worked’ he would smile or nod his head approvingly. His advice was always well thought out and a good balance of informative and complimentary.

It wasn’t as if I wanted to sleep with Zayn…I just…wanted to…write songs about him, and ask his opinions on everything, and talk to him about his tattoos, and maybe even spoon him if he was into that.

Harry must have noticed how I kept staring at him,  because as the evening continued the amount Harry would scoff or roll his eyes seemed to heighten.

He was probably jealous of the fact that for two seconds in his life, someone wasn’t paying attention to him. After all, Harry was the precious child of the vocal program. Everyone had a crush on Styles. Maybe it ruined him to know that someone was better looking and more talented. Despite Zayn being a Drama Student, his voice was…

The equivalent of his looks.

“Alright, smoke break.” Zayn pipes up, clapping his hands together definitively. “Harry? Becca?”

He looks back and forth between the two of us. Harry shakes his head.

“No thanks.”

Then Harry and I were left alone.

I turn to him, a genuine smile playing on my lips. He frowns, a great amount of unease evident in his physicality.

“Thanks, Harry.” I begin, wiping some of the sweat off of my forehead. “I really appreciate you letting me h—“

“You’d probably benefit a little more if you stopped drooling over him.”

Taken aback, I fall speechless. Instead of ripping him a new one, I simply give him a thin-lipped smile, not even daring to fight back. Harry and I’s relationship was already teetering on a fine line, and I wasn’t going to fall into this trap.

Instead, we spend the rest of the time that Zayn is gone in complete silence. Harry spends the break buried in his phone, while I pretend to read my script.

“So when do you guys perform, hey?”

I look up at the man/angel who just reentered the room. If this were a movie, some song by Celine Dion would’ve started the moment he passed the doorway.

“Well, I still have to get the role…this is just practice for callbacks. Harry thought a little extra training would be helpful.”

“Oh.” Zayn frowned, his stunning face still being stunning. He sends Harry a look.

Wait. What.

What the hell was happening here?

Harry shakes his head at Zayn, a couple strands falling out of his bun. He was…giving him a warning?

“Welp. How about we run over ‘Mama who Bore me?’ Just because you’re singing doesn’t mean you’re not acting.” Harry starts up again, his green eyes not leaving Zayn’s.

A theory starts to develop in my mind:

1)   Harry was upset that I was staring at Zayn because Harry is in LOVE with him

2)   Harry only invited me here to have an excuse to hang out with Zayn

3)   This intense eye contact could only mean one th—

“Hazza.”

“Fuck.” Harry sighs, turning to me. “Fuuuuuck.”

He rubs wildly at his face like he’s trying to remove his skin.

“Sorry, what’s happening?” My body starts to shake from anxiety.

Harry pulls a piece of paper tucked into the chest pocket of the shirt I fixed up. He hands it to me.

 “I kind of…” Harry starts, he reaches out to touch me and per usual, whenever anyone tried to touch me, I flinched.

“Harry, don’t.” Zayn warns, his eyes scanning my face, searching for some kind of reaction.

Figures I had already gotten the role.

\---

Zayn cut rehearsal short. Harry didn’t even say anything as I left the building. Typical.

How to Be Harry Styles

1)   Grow your hair out

2)   Look like a frog

3)   Rub yourself in cinnamon

4)   Annoy Becca

5)   Piss of Becca and then not immediately apologize, but do it a few days later in an ineffective manner

I guess, I wasn’t even upset…just…confused?

Why had he done all that if I already had the role? When was he planning on telling me? Would I have shown up to the audition room and no one would have been there? What game was he playing? Why hadn’t Sophia and Liam told me?

I sit in my dorm room staring at the wall like it had the answers to the universe.

That loneliness that constantly itched in the back of my mind grew louder. Harry had come into my life like a wrecking ball. He seemingly had no concern for my safety, my comfort, or my needs. I had had people like him in my life before, but I never understood their motivation. I always assumed I gave off the impression of being unstable, and delicate, and maybe that was why people felt the need to try to take the steering wheel to my life. When people like Harry came into the picture---people who tried to push my limits--they always seemed to take something for themselves. People like Harry wanted me to fall in love with them, or they wanted to congratulate themselves for giving me a makeover like one of those teen movies. I couldn’t figure out what Harry wanted, and why it had to be me that he chose, but I knew there was selfish intent.

Then again, maybe he did this to everyone. Maybe he loved making projects of people. Don’t let it get to your head, Becca. You’re not special.

I needed Summer.

I force my body off my bed and head next door.

I don’t even need to check if she’s home, I can hear her usual classic rock reverberating past her door and into the hallway.

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

Because my life is just one big Sims game for God I open the door to the worst thing ever.

Summer doesn’t even care. She just sort of laughs and says:

“Sorry Becks! I should have locked the door!” Her face slightly flushed, her hair pulled back, messy, but effortless.

Niall doesn’t say a word.

I close the door.

\---

“Chicky, chicky, chicky.”

“You really are Danny Zuko.”

Louis takes a sip of his beer, but his eyes are gleaming at me from over his cup.

“Congrats, Wendla.”

“Congrats, Moritz.” Moritz was the nervous and erratic best friend of Melchior, who takes his own life. I found him to be oddly relatable, easily making him my favourite character.

He reaches forward to cheers his mug with mine. I accept, followed by a long swallow on my behalf. After all, my brain wasn’t going to suppress the memory of Niall and Summer having sex by itself.

Then again, my fingers were numb for an hour after I witnessed that.

The area where my heart is supposed to be has been replaced by a seeping hole, devouring me from the inside out.

“Did Styles tell you I was the last one to know?”

“Oh?” He settles his beer down and begins to absentmindedly tear his napkin up into tiny shreds.

“Yup. He basically called me up and told me I had a callback instead.”

“A callback?” Louis repeats, still tearing away at his napkin. I take this opportunity to stare openly at his face. His facial hair was growing in quite scruffy which only added to his appeal. “There weren’t any callbacks.”

“Exactly.”

Louis looks up from the table, and meets my eyes, a handsome smirk playing on his lips.

“Dirty boy.” He scoffs. “Trying to get you to do a private audition for him?”

My lip curls in disgust.

“No. Ew.” My face slowly relaxes. “Although, I’m really not sure as to what he wanted.”

Louis shrugs.

“I dunno. Styles is an odd one. Most of the upper years can’t stand him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He gets all the solos during the Christmas Concerts, and he’s slept with almost every good looking girl in the program,” Well. That was something I didn’t know. “He’s also a prat. That too.”

I snort, taking in another large gulp of beer. The sour smell still lingering after I place the glass back down. I feel my lips tingle from the bubbles.

“He kind of is.” I nod, taking a glance around the student pub. This place was an absolute nightmare usually, but it was Tuesday, so it was relaxed and quiet. After all, no one drank on a Tuesday. Well, except for Louis, who didn’t ask any questions and simply said yes when I asked him to go get hammered with me.

God bless Louis “Danger” Tomlinson.

“Wait, so who told you then?”

“Harry, but not until Zayn made him.”

“Zayn?”

I nearly let out a dreamy sigh.

“Zayn Malik. He’s a second year actor. He’s…perfect.” I couldn’t even begin to explain him to Louis. It would be a five-hour process.

“As perfect as me?”

“Hardly.” I poke out my tongue at him, readjusting my glasses.

“Well, Harry was the one who called people about their roles. Liam sort of assigned him as Sophia and his’ little bitch.”

“Tricky bastard.” I grunted.

“Hmm.” He pulls a smoke from the pack that sits in his chest pocket, placing it between his lips. He gestures his head towards the door of the balcony.

I shake my head no; he shrugs, and heads out by himself to smoke.

I take in the atmosphere. The lighting consists of an unnecessary amount of tea lights, and lit lanterns. The few people who surrounded me seemed to be upper year students coming for a 2:00 AM snack and beer. They were playing some kind of indistinguishable New wave nonsense that I could practically see Summer hating.

Summer. Right. Summer.

The luckiest girl in the world.

 The sudden smell of cinnamon overwhelms my nostrils.

“Hey!” Harry slides into Louis’ seat, dropping his satchel at his side.

I immediately slam my head against the table.

“Uh…” Harry peters off. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

“How did you know I was here?” I mumble into my sleeve.

“Uh…well…I called Niall, and he checked your room, and your roommate told him you were here and…yeah.”

I peak up over my arms to see him. He’s changed into one of his many white t-shirts and is wearing a green head thing of sorts.

“Nice headband.”

“It’s a headscarf. But thanks!” He smiles at me cheerily, his two dimple friends reappearing. He was in a ridiculously chipper mood in comparison from earlier. This boy was a mystery.

I ruffle my birds’ nest of a haircut, and support myself by planting my elbows into the table, and consequently placing my head onto my hands.

“Harry.” I begin, hoping he’ll continue and explain himself.

He blinks. And doesn’t continue. Good one, Becca.

“Yeah?”

“Harry, why did you lie?”

His smile doesn’t falter. He’s still grinning.

“Because I knew it was for the best.” He says it so earnestly I could punch him.

I groan. What was with everyone treating me like a kid?

“Really?” I try to say it like I’m slapping him.

Louis takes a seat to the right of Harry. He scrunches up his face at the sight of Mr.Frog. I shrug at him, just as unsure as to why he had showed up as Louis was.

Harry acts as if Louis isn’t even there.

“You’re talented. You needed the extra shove.”

“How would you know that?” I snap, sitting up straight.

Harry’s eyes dart around wildly as if maybe the answer was on the table.

“You keep saying I ‘remind me of you’ and that ‘you understand me’ and bullshit. But if you understood me, wouldn’t you know I just want to be left alone?” I remain surprisingly calm throughout my diatribe. It needed to be made clear that Harry Styles did not have an effect on me, and that he couldn’t interfere anymore.

“That’s the thing, I know your type so well, that I know you’re lying right now.”

I want to puke.

“Styles. You. Do. Not. Know. Me.”

Louis at this point is looking back and forth between us as if he were watching the world’s most epic tennis game. His jaw is askew and his eyes are widening by the minute.

“I do know you. I know that if I had told you that night you had gotten Wendla you would have chickened out then and there.”

“How did that little rehearsal of ours help any of that?”

“You needed to know someone had faith in you.” He stresses, while prodding his thumb against his chest.

I go to speak, but he interrupts me.

“I heard you singing some piece from Handel’s Messiah in one of the practice rooms the first week of school. You had left the door a bit open, and when I looked through the glass I could see you singing your heart out. I have never seen anyone get so invested in a stupid Christmas piece. You’re something, Becca.”

I try to think of something witty, or mean, or really anything at all, but I can’t.

I can’t even cry. I just sort of stare sadly at him, like some lost puppy.

He readjusts his headscarf/band/whatever and gets up from his seat, taking his satchel with him.

“Bye, Louis. See you next week for rehearsal.”

Louis sends back an unenthusiastic wave.

Usually by this point my mind is running a mile a minute with doubts or concerns, but all I can hear is the thumping of my own heart.

“What a prick.” Louis mutters, sliding back into his original chair and finishing the last of his beer.

“Yeah. No kidding.” I half-heartedly agree. When I’m done my drink, I let out a sigh and put it back on the table a little too loudly.

“Lemme grab you another, love.”

I flick my eyes up to meet his. His eyes are a steely, immersive blue that induce nausea they’re so captivating.

I had made up my drunken mind: I was going to fuck him.


	9. And Then There Was None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You wanna laugh, it’s too absurd
> 
> You start to ask, can’t hear a word
> 
> You want to crash a burn
> 
> Right, tell me more
> 
> You start to cave, you start to cry
> 
> You try to run, nowhere to hide
> 
> You want to crumble up, and close that door."

…Figures I did not fuck him.

Mostly because I ended up falling asleep mid-heavy petting on his bed. The rest of the night is total darkness except for my slight recollection of Louis snoring.

I wake up to hear him singing and getting dressed.

This sight would have been pleasant had it been any other day but today. A ferocious hangover cloud is looming over my head, and my neck ached painfully due to the angle it was placed in.

I look over at him and admire his body. He was so easy on the eyes. I could get used to this.

“Gooood morning, Princess.” He grins, clearly aware of my gaze. He pulls his sleeveless shirt over his head and blocks my view of his muscular chest. Way to ruin the fun.

“Good morrnfsg” I grumble into the pillow, sweeping my bangs out of my face and letting out a massive yawn. I could physically see the green fumes of morning breath leaving my mouth.

“You ready to run?” He laughs, pulling a belt through the loops of his black skinny jeans.

The slow realization that I in fact did not tap that sweet ass in front of me was actually worsening my hangover. Considering I could only have sex comfortably while I was drunk, I wanted to punch past-Becca.

He spins around to search for his deodorant and I give his butt a look that could melt an ice cube.

He turns back around, meeting my stare with a cocky grin.

“Yeah?” He asks like he’s waiting for an answer. He sweeps his bangs over to the side, it looked disgustingly effortless and only in my dreams did my hair look like that.

“Hmm?” I sit up, yawning again and pulling the blankets closer to my chest. Figures I had passed out in a bra and Louis’ apartment was not very warm.

“Class, love. It started half an hour ago.”

In a matter of seconds I spring out of bed, frantically pacing the room in search of my glasses and shirt. The room whizzes in all directions as I try to make clarity of my surroundings. Suddenly, Louis grabs my wrists and pulls them to his chest, I go colliding along with it. With a quick ‘thump’, I’m pressed flush against him. My vision is spinning wildly with a head rush I had gotten from standing up so quick.

“I’m just kidding with ya.” His lips pull into the usual cheeky smile.

Turning my face away from him, I exhale with relief, making sure not to push my gross morning breath on him.

“Then why are you up?” He releases his grip on me and I take this opportunity to use the bathroom.

I leave the door open as I take a wiz. My bladder feels as if it had a rock sitting on it all night, and my head I feels as if I had drank enough beer for a whole Irish Pub. Niall would be proud.

“I have class in an hour, I was planning on grabbing breakfast beforehand.” I hear him call out from his room. I was too hungover to give a shit if he could hear me pissing.

He waits patiently for the volume of the toilet flushing to ease up.

“Uh, is it ok if I sleep a little more?”

I turn on the tap and wash my hands.

“Er…”

I find his mouthwash and do the world and myself a favour by using it. Wiping up the smeared makeup beneath my eyes, I reenter Louis’ bedroom.

His eyes sweep me over. That’s all it takes for the mood of the room to change and for my heart to fall into my stomach.

I did not have feelings for Louis, but fuck, did I ever have feelings to fuck him. Where in the hell was this sudden sexual desire coming from?

All I’m wearing is an old beige bra (which clearly proves I was not expecting any sort of action yesterday) and a pair of loose fitting harem pants and yet he was looking at me like a Victoria’s Secret Angel.

A small grin appears and disappears for just a split second across his face. I could swear I imagined it.

“Can I not sleep?” I inquire, my voice scratchy from being unused overnight.

“Well…” He muses, looking around the room as if he were imitating thinking.

“It’s ok, I’ll leave.” I give him a curt smile before spotting my shirt on the floor and reaching for it.

Louis, who is sitting on his bed, kicks my shirt across the room.

I look up at him and he meets eyes with mine.

His eyes are a ferocious shade of blue, nothing like Niall’s.

Nothing like Niall. But after all, no one was like him.

He pushes himself off the bed and takes two long strides towards me. I can’t even bring myself to back up. He’s moments from my body and the musky smell of his cologne causes my heart to stutter. His eyes flick across my face. He wears a look of concern and fear across his face, something I had never seen before.

His breath hits my forehead; but the smell of mouthwash I had just used from his bathroom wafts through my nose.

My heartbeat slows, and breathing suddenly becomes a little more difficult. He is so close. Too close. I try to remember what he felt like last night, or what he kissed like, but all I can remember was seeing the outline of my hands in the darkness as they ran through his hair. I remember his soft groans into my mouth and the little purrs he emitted when he nipped my flesh.

He leans towards me slowly like the way my first boyfriend did in Grade 10. Unlike last night, Louis seemed unsure, maybe even scared.

“What…” Is all I can choke out before he quickly jerks his head away from me.

“Nah, I gotta run, stay if you like!”

And he leaves before I can say another word.

Did I do something…wrong?

My second trip to Harry/Katie/Liam/Sophia’s apartment is a lot more sober than the first time. The walls are a pretty shade of periwinkle, and it seems endlessly more spacious than it felt at the party, I pick up on the little details this time: the posters, the bookshelf, the smell of some sort of Asian Cuisine that reminded me of home. The four of them all sit on the couch chatting as some girl named Eleanor feels me up.

Well, not exactly, she’s just taking my measurements.

“God, you’re small.” She mutters, but I hear it, and ultimately feel like shit after it leaves her mouth. Her thin fingers trace across my sides, I can feel them through my shirt.

She’s beautiful, and I’m intimidated. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she gnaws at her lip in concentration. Everything she does is…seamless. Get it? Good one, Becca.

The sensation of her touch worsens when she goes to measure my non-existent breasts.

She clears her throat, hands occasionally brushing up against my nipples. “You’re not wearing a bra, right? Because with a bra the costume mig—“

“No, I’m wearing a bra.”

She grimaces briefly before continuing to section off my body with measuring tape.

“Thankfully your character is fourteen.” Harry chuckles, his eyes sparkling, as he takes another sip of his beer.

Liam and Sophia snort simultaneously. Despite the fact that I want to slap them all in the face, I can’t help but ease up when I see the way Liam and Sophia look at each other; Stupidly loving and adorable. Kill me.

I glance over at Harry who is also entranced by the two lovebirds giggling at one another. The ends of his lips quirk upwards. I imagine after living here long enough it could get on your nerves, though.

Katie on the other hand, is texting furiously as if her life depended on it.  At least she was here; she was the only person in the room I could stand.

My eyes drift back over to Liam and Sophia who are having a conversation extremely close to one another’s faces. I wonder how anyone could talk like that.

My imagination runs wild for a moment and I pretend that Sophia and Liam break up and they have to move out (or one of them does) and the show collapses and I’m left to my own devices and it’s lovely.

Eleanor’s hands brush my inner thigh and I let out a tiny noise.

Harry’s eyes meet mine for some reason. Little clumps of moss. His face is tinged pink.

He mouths a quiet ‘Hi’, and all of the shit he’s put me through these past few weeks melts away like smoke.

When Eleanor leaves Sophia, Liam and Harry say their goodbyes to her at the door and it’s just me and Katie left on the couch.

I let out an obnoxious yawn as I tuck my legs into myself. Sophia had lent me the comfiest pair of socks and I was currently soaking up the enjoyment.

I look over at Katie, who’s eyebrows are furrowed intensely, and who’s nostrils are slightly flared.

“You ok?” I croak out after a moment of us sitting side by side in silence.

She had been texting all evening and had barely looked up from her phone for more than two seconds.

“Yeah,” She responds curtly, and after another furious round of key tapping she clicks her phone off and throws it beside her. “Yeah, I’m good.”

A part of me wants to ask her what’s wrong but the other part of me is so socially awkward it physically hurts.

“Louis isn’t leaving Eleanor alone so we basically got into a fucking showdown via text. I’m sorry to be that dick with her nose in her phone.”

“Oh.” I suddenly understood that that was the Eleanor that Summer and Niall had been referring to.

“Yeah, like he wants his shit back and I keep telling him NOT to go over and get it, but of course he does it anyway. Eleanor doesn’t even have a roomie so God knows if he showed up on the right day it would be so awkward and horrible and I would not wish that on anyone.”

“Yeah?” Come on, Becca, be a fucking person and think of something better to say!

“Yeah, Louis is a fucking twat. He should just be sent to jail.”

I was unsure as to what I had done that made me deserve this heated rant. One minute I was asking for more social interaction, next I am dreading it with every inch of my being.

“Why?” I mumble out.

Katie rubs her face with the heel of her palms, leaving her face irritated and red.

“Louis is a cheating, lying, idiot. He dated Eleanor since fucking ninth grade, and I’m pretty sure he’s been cheating on her since they first started too.”

“Oh.” That was nothing like the story I had heard from Niall…that changed…a lot.

“They’ve broken up more times than I can count, but this time, she broke up with him instead, so I think it’s doneso for real.”

Each line of gossip was burning my ears.

A part of me felt discomfort at the fact that I had just kissed him last night, but that feeling was quickly replaced with nothingness. Per usual. After all, he was no Niall, why the hell should I care? He was essentially practice.

I couldn’t even feel anything at all. Not even the slightest bit of remorse.

“You guys are lads, yeah?”

I look up from her sparkly pink fingernails to her concerned expression. Katie achieved the kind of confidence, beauty, grace, and bluntness I could only dream of receiving. The world seemingly revolved in her favour.

“Yeah, we hang out sometimes. He’s ok.” You’re a fucking liar, Becca.

She lays her hand onto mine and I practically shudder in response. People didn’t touch me often, especially when I was sober. But here she was, and oddly enough I was okay with it. I find myself staring at the little freckles that dance across her cheeks, and the pretty shade that’s painted on her lips. I wonder if she’s ever kissed a girl?

“Please be careful, Rebecca. I know we’re not close, but he’s going to fuck you over and he…he also…”

She removes her hand from mine, and I suddenly miss her comforting touch. She swallows loudly, and plays with the pendant on her chest. Katie could make everything rotate in her favour.

“He sexually assaulted me at a party last year, please, please, please watch yourself.”

My thoughts halt.

“What…?”

“Yes. He did. He shouldn’t have even been at the party last week, fucking Harry invited him.”

“Why did he do that?” My body seemingly has forgotten how to function.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Why haven’t y—“

“Because him, Liam, and Sophia all love him. They wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

I can’t even put together a sentence.

“Like...”

“Yeah. I was drunk. He wasn’t. He was also dating Eleanor at the time. It’s actually what brought us closer together and why she managed to break up with him officially.”

I blink.

“It’s…easier telling girls than guys. I feel like women understand it more.”

I nod dumbly.

“What about Sophia?” I whisper, unaware how nearby she was.

“She’s great, but she’s Liam’s girlfriend before my friend. I doubt she’d believe me.”

 “Oh.”

Katie’s eyes start to water, and her face grows blotchy.

“I think about it all the time. Why do I feel regret for something I had no control over?”

My heart drops into my stomach.

“Why do I have to live with this fucking feeling?”

For a moment I feel something.

\---

It’s five in the evening and my roommate isn’t home so I take the opportunity to lie on my bed in the dark. It’s an unsettling blackness that spreads over the room due to the lack of windows in our dorm.

My mind is nowhere near tired. Thoughts of Louis, Katie, Spring Awakening, Harry, Niall, and Summer are racing through my head at such a rapid succession I feel sick.

Katie had been assaulted. She had been assaulted by a guy who was almost always nearby. She had to see his face almost everyday. She had to watch her friends be friends with him.

A tiny glint of light appears as the door opens to reveal the outline of Summer.

I forgot to lock the door, fuck.

She sees my body, but instead of letting me “sleep”, she calls out. “Hey, Becks?”

That’s Niall’s nickname for me.

I don’t answer, but I can hear her stepping in.

She turns on the light, and my face immediately shapes into one of discomfort.

I grunt.

“What the fuck?”

“Come on, Becca, you snore when you’re asleep. There’s no way in hell you were out.”

“I’m still allowed to lie in the dark in my own room, last time I checked.”

“Really? This early?”

“YES.”

Summer’s eyes widen in surprise.

My throat feels raw.

My hands are gripping my sheets so tightly my knuckles are white.

I am infuriated.

Summer backs away from me, “What is happening with you?”

“Maybe if you were here for the past four weeks, you’d know.” I snap, not even taking the chance of looking into her eyes.

“You’ve been running away from ME.” She spits, her voice getting increasingly more whiny and high pitch by the second.

I can’t seem to think of a response, but I consider whipping my alarm clock at her.

“Is this because of me and Niall?”

“No.”

Shut up, Becca.

“I understand you want to spend more time with us, but sometimes we just need somet—“

“No. It’s not.”

Shut the FUCK up, Becca.

“—We can try to make a little more effort with the whole thing, and maybe if you try bringing Harry out with us, we c—“

Summer cuts herself off as I look up at her. She’s crying. She looks scared. The flood of feelings I had earlier were nowhere to be found. I didn’t care.

“Harry. You’re interested in Harry. Becca, don’t lie to me; I know you better than you know yourself. The whole Louis thing is a way to get him j--”

“I’m not interested in Harry.”

“Uh-huh, okay.”

Like I said, once she made up her mind it was difficult to change. Only Summer could change Summer’s mind.

“No, I’m not. He’s annoying.”

I scrunch up my toes.

“It wouldn’t hurt going on a date with him.”

Today was falling apart in front of my very eyes.

“He’s not interested in me, either.” I retort evenly, uncurling my toes and staring at the ugly purple carpet that they were placed on.

“Not from what I hear.”

Excuse me?

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know, Niall heard some shit, that’s it.”

What the actual fuck is wrong with everyone?

Maybe this whole Spring Awakening thing was one elaborate plan for Niall to get me to sleep with the Frog Prince. Maybe Liam and Sophia were just being the wingmen for Harry. Maybe Harry was a crazed, psychotic, manipulative, disgusting, evil asshole.

But nothing comes out of my mouth. “I…”

“Becca?”

She gives me her usual look of concern. I say usual because she’s always concerned about me. I give her reason to, after all.

“I’m interested in someone else.” I’m surprised that I’ve said the words out loud. The minute they leave my lips, I wish I could have shoved them back down my throat.

Summer stares at me for a long time, but instead of guessing, her face grows paler than usual. She shakes her head knowingly and leaves my room.

Good one.


	10. The Mirror-Blue Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But there’s nowhere to hide from the ghost in my mind  
> It’s cold in these bones of a man and a child"

I have managed to avoid talking to anyone for three days.

More specifically I’ve been avoiding Summer and Niall.

My streak is only broken when I slam into Liam on my way back to the dorm. He’s all dressed up in a plaid button-up and well-fitted jeans. Liam is the kind of guy you take home to meet your mom.

“Hey! Did you get my text?”

“Uh…No? My phone’s been acting up.”

Clearly my acting has improved because he simply nods with understanding.

“Yeah, um, basically, we’re having some casting issues right now,” I raise an eyebrow. What in the world did that mean? “So, we’re cancelling our rehearsal on Sunday, and instead we’re starting up after the break.”

He gazes around the empty area as if he were looking for quick escape routes. Understandably so, considering I’m possibly the most irritating human to be within close proximity of.

“Alright.” I pull off my glasses and begin to clean them against the sleeve of my ugly yellow High School sweater. I couldn’t bear to part with it. Too many memories of Niall.

“Off-book.”

“Off-book?”

“Memorized.”

My mouth forms an ‘O’. I could physically feel the stress drop onto my shoulders. I immediately shove my glasses back on to seek any sort of comfort from Liam. He’s staring at me blank faced, but his eyes are soft and it reads something along the lines of ‘tough shit, Becca’. Or maybe it didn’t. I dunno. I’m not good at reading people.

A sudden spike of courage over comes me.

“What’s the casting issue?”

Liam exhales loudly, his breath visible in the air, a clear sign the cold was coming soon.

“It’s not really right for me to say. When we’re more sure we’ll tell you after the break.”

It’s Louis. I know its Louis. It must be. Did Katie tell them? An odd sense of relief overcomes me. I felt proud of her. Katie harbored a strength that I could barely even fathom what it would be like to have.

“Ok.” I try not to say it like I’m freaking out internally.

“See you around, Becca.”

“You too.”

He brushes by me and I catch a whiff of his cologne. I’m sent into an odd reverie where Liam is my alternate universe boyfriend. I could see him applauding for me after our opening night, or staying up to help me finish an essay, or wrapping me in his ridiculously muscular arms. I still hadn’t moved from where I was standing and I felt like a right idiot.

But I know Liam isn’t what I want. All I want is to run my hands through coarse blond hair, or to be the one he comes home drunk to, or maybe even wear one of his snap backs.

As if on cue, Niall comes trotting around from the corner like some stupid sitcom.

“Hey Becks!”

I nearly bolt it, but of course, all I manage to do is stand like a statue in fear of what he may say to me. If Summer told him about our conversation the other night (which she likely did) I hope I get struck by lightning right this very instant.

“Hey!” I cry out weakly. I wonder if a sewer is an acceptable escape route to conversations you wish to avoid. I could become a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

“Did you get my text?” I hear for the second time that day.

“Nah, my phone’s been acting up.” Which is code for I’ve been pretending It doesn’t exist for three days.

“Shit. Maybe take it into the shop?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Probably on break. No time.”

His blue eyes are gleaming at me. Picture of perfection. His cheeks are flushed from the cold. I want to hold him. I want him to hold me.

I realize I haven’t gotten a proper hug for weeks and that depresses me. Even when Louis spooned me in his bed it had a sexual nature to it. All I want at this moment is a normal hug with no underlying bullshit.

“For sure. Actually, that’s why I came to see you, Miss.” He sings out, burying his hands into the pocket of his cozy sweater. I had worn that one on the night he threw up on my shoes. It was a weak attempt at an apology.

Wait. Miss? What am I, your teacher?

“I was wondering if you wanted to catch a lift back to the old hometown?”

Four hours. Four hours of alone time. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

“You have a car?” I say breezily. At least the cold can hide the probable red arising on my face.

“Rented one.” He shoots a cheeky wink my way. I nearly shit myself.

“Well, yeah! Of course.” I pause, my breath catching in my throat. “Um, is Summer coming?”

“Nah, she’s flying back to the States to see her folks. She’ll come home with me maybe next break.”

Next break? As in in the New Year? Were they really planning ahead that much?

“Alsoooo, guess who still has the Horan/Zhu Playlist 2k10?”

“Shut the fuck up. Actually?”

A grin splits his face.

“Yup. Guess what were listening to for four hours?”

“Ewww, no. Please no. I’d rather listen to Gregorian chants.”

His response is his classic cackle.

“Knew you’d say that. Also downloaded about two hours worth of that as well.”

I roll my eyes. I might as well stare into a camera like in The Office.

Niall whips his phone out from his pocket. 

“Ooo, fuck, I’m late. I’ll facebook you the details, yeah?”

Deus Ex Machina.  
“Sounds swell.”

“You sound like you’re fifty.”

“Better than five!” I call back as he breaks into a sprint, his leg with the bad knee preventing him from running in a not awkward fashion. Although, he’s awkward in general. So.

—-

I spend the walk back to my dormitory balancing between a stage of hysterical crying and hysterical laughter.

The incessant amount of regrets that circle in my mind come to a halt as I reach the front door of my building. Sliding my keycard across the sensor, I can hear myself swallow.

This had become my routine for the past few days—dreading the idea of bumping into Summer. Living beside her was no longer a blessing, it was my living nightmare.

As I chose to take the stairs up to my floor, I try to muffle my inner dialogue; My anxiety. My depression.

This was nothing new.

Diagnosed when I was twelve as clinically depressed. Triggered after my Father walked out, but apparently genetic on my Mother’s side. Except my Mom’s had worsened post-partum and eased as I went into Year 10.

The nagging voices, the endless nerves, the relentless difficulty of day-to-day activities were out of my hands. I couldn’t “lighten up”, I couldn’t just “feel better”. I couldn’t just “do yoga” and suddenly be as happy as a newborn baby.

Medication had been my stepping stool to access the supposed “top shelf” of life. Medication allowed me to function. But as of late, medication was not enough.

I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

When I reach my dorm room I spot Harry standing outside of it, playing with his phone. His fingers nimbly tap at some sort of game on the screen. He’s wearing one of his wide brimmed hats, and multitude of rings. In his usual Styles-esque fashion, he was sporting a loose satin button down and jeans too tight for any sane human. His face is stiff with concentration.

I brush by him to open my door, which causes him to look up in surprise.

“Becks!”

Why does everyone keep calling me that? Niall exclusive nickname, people.

“Hey.” I force out a small smile, not looking up at him as I struggle with the lock.

He touches the material of my sweater dress, toying with it between his long fingers.

“I like this.”

“Thanks.”

By some blessing my door opens with a ‘click’ and I push it open, inhaling the usual smell of formaldehyde from my roommate’s clothes.

I drop my bag onto the ground with a sigh and lift my arms upward into a surprisingly pleasant stretch.

Harry welcomes himself in and takes a seat onto my unmade bed.

“This place reeks.”

He doesn’t take his shoes off, and places them directly onto the carpet beside my bed. I stare openly at his foot placement, but he doesn’t appear to notice.

“I was thinking…” He begins, playing with the end of one of his curls. “That maybe we should rehearse some of the more ‘intimate’ scenes before doing them in front of everyone.”

Oh God.

“Like…the sex scene?”

He nods, clearly trying to read my expression. I was not going to give him the benefit of that.

“Maybe. I’d rather learn the choreography that Liam wants for it, see how difficult it is, then decide depending on that.”

“Cool.” He gnaws on his bottom lip “Okay, sure.”

I slap my hands back down beside my thighs.

“That it?”

“Uh,” He removes his hat and runs a hand through his waves. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out over study week?” His voice dwindles off near the end of his sentence.

His behaviour was beginning to freak me out. Had Summer said something? Did he think I was interested in him? Frog Prince needs to check himself before he wrecks himself.

“Well…I’m actually going back home to my parents in…like two days?”

“Oh, shit, right, I forget some people go home.” He barks out a laugh, but I don’t join him.

A little shiver runs up my spine. What the hell did he think he was doing?

“Harry, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, and his green eyes practically double in size.

“Sorry?”

“You’re being weird.” I gesture at his general being.

His face softens, and he places his hat back on.

“I saw you crying after class the other day.”

Ah.

“Ok?”

“I’ve never seen you cry before.”

“Ok…?”

He gets up from his bed and begins to take slow steps towards me and from what I can assume he’s trying to—

“No. No, thank you.” I place my hand out in order to stop him from wrapping his arms around me.

I silently kick myself, considering I was asking for a non-sexual hug only an hour ago. Then again, I truly had no idea what Harry’s motif was. Maybe he was asking me to practice the scenes because he wanted me to feel comfortable.

Maybe, just maybe, Harry is my friend.

Something unusual possesses me and I drop my arm and walk into his embrace. I decide to ignore the look on his (probably shocked) face. Instead, I listen to the quiet thrumming of his heartbeat.

We stand in my room in silence.

He doesn’t let go until I begin to move away.

“Thanks.”

His face looks pained.

“You’re crying again.”

I raise my hand to my face in shock, instantly regretting placing myself in such an intimate situation.

“I think I’m a bit overwhelmed to be honest.” I exhale. I couldn’t even bring myself to banter with him, or try to ward him off with dirty looks. “There isn’t even anything to be sad about. The world is just overwhelming. I keep waking up exhausted.”

He doesn’t react, waiting for me to continue.

The months and months of hurt start to unlock inside of me.

“Sometimes it’s like I wake up every day a different person and I’m just stuck dealing with actions of the person who was in my body the day before. I mean, that’s my convoluted, romantic way of saying: I regret every decision and I doubt myself constantly.”

“What do you regret?”

“Letting you into my room, auditioning for Spring Awakening, going to this school, being your friend, being Louis’ friend, going to that party, falling in love with…”

I realize I’m almost yelling, and Harry looks frightened, standing still, unsure what to do.

“…With who?”

His vivid moss-coloured eyes stare poignantly at my face. I flush.

“Oh.”

Does he know?

“Oh shit.” He says shortly after.

He knows.

“Yeah.” I lift off my glasses and rub at my eyes weakly.

“I thought you liked Lou…” He trails off, a sudden realization striking him. I could see his eyes dart around as he put the pieces together.

“Nope. I don’t even think I’m capable of liking anyone else.”

“Hmm?” He shifts his weight uneasily. It strikes me again how very tall he is in comparison to me. I reach probably just below his two (actual) nipples.

“I don’t think I’m really capable of liking anyone at all.” I shrug.

“What do you mean?” He plays with his rings, tugging and twisting at them.

“Buy me a drink first.” I suggest bravely.

“I have a vocal exam tomorrow.”

“Oh.” My stomach sinks. I had made an idiot of myself.

His face shifts slightly after viewing my visible dissapointment.

“Fuck it.”

—-

“I’ve never orgasmed.”

It only took one beer and I was already babbling out my life story.

“Like ever?” He stops mid-swig to ask.

The bar is packed with people and I can barely hear Harry over the rambunctious students chattering around us. Figures some peoples’ exams had already ended. Break had begun.

The room was seemingly becoming increasingly more humid with every sip. I could feel my bangs sticking to my forehead as I sweat like a dog in the heat. Harry seemed at ease, probably because his unbuttoned shirt provided some kind of DIY air conditioning.

With every movement he made his shirt would shift, willing me to look at the expanse of tattoos that littered his body.

“No, thank God. Just during sex.” I sigh, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ears, thankful that the dim lights of the bar hid my flushed face.

“I don’t think that’s unheard of.” He shrugs, finishing his gesture with a long sip.

“Then again, I’ve only slept with two people.”

Still hidden behind his mug, his green (though they looked brown under the tealights) eyes widening in surprise.

“I dunno, most guys are pretty shite at helping girls with that. It’s an art.” He says, lowering his mug to the table and shrugging effortlessly.

Unsure if it was the alcohol, but I could feel my cheeks heat up at the sight of his face. He looked so likeable illuminated nicely with a little line of froth gracing his upper lip.

“Well, only one of them was a girl.” I mumble, but he hears it.

“Oh shiiiit. You’re full of surprises.” I spot the slightly perverted grin he’s trying to suppress from appearing on his face.

“I try.” I laugh, trying to shake off the usual uncomfortably I felt. I often felt fetishized after telling men that.“Ever been with a guy?”

“Hmm…well, a couple of make outs. But no, not really. Don’t get much out of it.”

A hysterical giggle sounds in my right ear, causing Harry and I to turn and stare at the small pile of girls seated nearby, enraptured in an apparently hilarious drunken conversation. I look back at Harry, who is surprisingly already staring at me, mouth slightly parted. He catches me catching him, and tries to play it cool by grinning and showing off his dumb dimples.

“I think I’m telling you this because I’m convinced I won’t be coming back after the break. That I’ll just never see you again and therefore I will have no consequences.”

“You’d like that, hey? To never see me again?” I was never sure how to react to Harry when he got like this. I imagined him using that facial expression and voice to sleep with all the girls in his year.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”

I place my cup down and Harry is quick to grab the pitcher and refill it. Take two.

“Yes you do. Bull shit.” He sings, now pouring his own.

“No, I don’t.” I snap back.

“You like me! We’re friends.”

My eyes lift from his pouring to his face. He looks like a cherub. A fucking frog cherub.

He shoots a wink at me, and suddenly I remember how Summer told me that he may in fact have feelings for me. I try to brush aside my anxiety, but the thought that he may just be hanging out with me for a fling prods incessantly at my heart.

“Stop allowing me to embarrass myself and tell me something about yourself.” I suggest taking a massive swig of beer in an attempt to drown out my usual anxiety,

“Ok…” He pulls lightly at one of the tealights beside his head. Fiddling with it between his fingers, he lets out a sigh as if to show he was in the process of thinking. “Um. Hi. I’m Harold. I grew up in Cheshire. I worked at a bake—“

“Something embarrassing! Or nauseatingly sad!” I interrupt him, my voice coming out louder than initially intended.

Harry laughs, and uses his finger to push my glasses back up my nose. My bridge tingles under his touch. Thank god for shitty lighting. I try to not break eye contact.

“Ok. Uh. My music teacher said I should go here because the only thing I’m pretty good at is singing…uh…I don’t do laundry half as much as I should…?”

It takes me a little too long to respond as the alcohol swishes around in my head. Shit.

“I fought tooth and nail to go here.” I finally say.

“Asian heritage?” He spits back, dimples on display.

“Uh, no.” I state a little too harshly. I try to cover up my tone with a strange smile. “My parents are just concerned that I was going here for Niall’s sake.”

He nods.

I nod.

“Are you?”

“What? No! Well, I don’t know. Maybe I used to. Because now that him and Summer are together and I know he’s unattainable, I still want to be here. Just…I want them to leave instead of me.” I can feel myself scrambling for the right words, but it feels like I’m drowning in my own thoughts.

“Ah.” He hums. He’s clearly not half as drunk as I am. It probably doesn’t help that he’s essentially twice my height.

“Am I evil?” I sigh, reaching across the table to touch one of his rings.

He removes it for me and as he places it in my hand he says “Not for those reasons.”

I gasp jokingly and stick out my tongue in response. Apparently the drunker I got, the more I choose to infantilize my every action.

“I guess, I like the tests, I like the campus, I like the independence, the scheduled days, learning, signing an—“

“Spring Awakening?” He says this so earnestly that my heart flutters.

“Too early to tell…but yeah, maybe.” I mutter, placing his ring onto my pointer finger—it’s much too large and I hand it back to him.

He’s smiling ear to ear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile this much.

“Stop that.” I try to say it like I mean it but it comes out flirtatious.

“You’re cute.”

Oh God.

“I know.”

As the words leave my lips I’m reminded of what Louis had said to me at that party not too long ago. Fuck. Louis. Shit. I nearly had sex with a piece of living trash. The wave of self-hatred comes tumbling back full force.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I kissed him.” I remove my glasses and place them onto the table. I rub at my eyes tiredly.

“Hmm?” Harry looks absolutely puzzled, but as per usual, he’s quick to catch on. “Oh. Well, he told me you guys fucked.”

I drop my hands from my face.

“What? Actually!?” I gape.

“Nah.”

“Fuck you.” I sigh, trying to calm myself as my heart starts up again. “I’m going to stop talking about myself now. Tell me about your problems. Do you even have problems?”

Next thing I know a shot is placed in front of Harry and I. He looks around until he makes eyes with the group of girls sitting at the table not too far from us. He throws them a kiss and they all turn to each other and laugh. Something along the lines of ‘If you don’t fuck him, I will!’ echoes in my ears.

It’s hot down my throat and leaves a burning sensation through my body. Harry looks at ease as he reaches forward to pat me softly on the shoulder.

“Tell me your problems!” I wheeze out between coughs. Fuck this shit stings.

“Well, I feel like I have little to no purpose in this world. That’s a start.” He chuckles darkly.

The words feel like they’re taking too long to settle in.

“I fall in love with anyone who looks my way. That too.”

He tries to read my face. I’m not even sure what my facial expression resembles at this moment.

“Uh…I’m growing out my hair as a ‘fuck you’ to my ex-girlfriend, and I have an exam tomorrow that I’m going to fuck up so hard.”

“Amen.” Is all I can manage.

—-

I find myself stumbling, clutching onto his sleeve, inhaling cinnamon, fumbling over words. The world whirls around me and I stand still. Next thing I know I’m home.

The walls feel interesting under my fingertips.

“Will you kiss me?”

He shakes his head ‘no.’

“Why not? You said I was cute. Cute people should kiss each other.”

“Because it’s weird, Becca.”

I try to remember what shirt I was wearing the first time we spoke.

“But you’re kissing me in a play? Is that going to be weird?”

Owen Pallett? It must have been. Or was it my Joni Mitchell one?

“No…I…Becca, you’re not into me. You’re not even into Niall. You’re just sad.”

I’m too drunk to really let it sink in, but I know it’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt when I wake up tomorrow. It’s going to hurt for months. Whatever he is saying it is going to hurt.

“I just mean…I think you don’t love him.” He fixes my askew glasses. “I think you’re filling up an empty void.”

“I hate when you dictate my life, Harry.” I give him a sharp jab in the chest as I enunciate his name. “I can be in love and be empty.”

He swallows.

“Just because I’m depressed doesn’t mean I can’t love. I’ve always been depressed, I’ve always been like this, I’ve al—“

“I didn’t m—“ He tries to interject but I have no intentions of being quiet.

“I can fall in love. I know I seem like some kind of ROBOT to you but believe it or not I c—“

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“You…apologized.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You never apologize.”

“I do when I think I’m wrong.” He removes his jean jacket from my shoulders (when did he put it on me?) “Goodnight, Becca.”

Good one, Becca.


	11. I Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe all will be forgiven."

Sensory overload. I woke up to a whole lot of everything.

My phone was ringing, my body was steaming hot, my bladder felt heavy, my eyes burned from residual makeup, and someone was lying next to me.

Also, where the fuck am I?

I push off two massive duvets from off of my body. Jesus Christ. Air. Cool. Air.

I spot a sleeping Katie lying next to me, which brings a sense of relief considering it wasn’t a) a stranger or b) Louis. I wrack my brain for an explanation but all I can remember is Harry’s goodnight.

‘Goodnight, Becca.’His attractive froggy face looked…disappointed? At least from what I can gather from my lack of memory.

“Answer your phmgf…” Katie mumbles into her pillow, while swatting blindly at my boobs.

It takes me a moment to decipher her words, but I quickly catch on and snatch my phone from off the floor beside me.

I’m surprisingly not as hung over as one would predict, but my mouth tastes mildly of vomit and that explains that mystery very quickly.

“Y’ello?” I say as quietly as possible, trying to not wake up Katie any further.

“Jesus Christ.” Niall sighs loudly into the phone, causing me to pull my ear away from it.

“I prefer Becca.” I mutter, pulling myself out of bed and walking over to what I assume is Katie’s bathroom. I sit myself down on the toilet in order to kill two birds with one stone. Niall had heard me pee via phone and seen me pee in person during many of our drunken antics.

“You told me to contact you on Facebook because your phone is broken.” Niall says this point-blank and I can tell he is in no mood to joke.

Fuck. Caught in a lie.

“It’s wonky, works sometimes. I think it overheats…?” I was on a lying streak as of late and immediately after I spoke I felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

“Becks, I’ve been messaging you since 8pm last night.” He spits, and I can only imagine the face he’s making; His jaw clenched, and his eyebrows furrowed, running one of his hands through his hair.

“Oh.” Is all my muddled head manages to think of.

“So, are you coming back with me tonight or not?” He asks this like he genuinely did not give a shit where I ended up.

“Tonight?” I repeat, flushing the toilet. “I thought we were going tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tonight. Which you would have known if you had checked your fucking phone, or computer or fucking carrier pigeon.”

“Ok, ok, ok. I’m sorry!” I press my ear to shoulder in order to keep the phone in place while I washed my hands.

“Where were you?” He asks after a long, disappointed sigh.

“Well, Mom,” I run a million excuses through my head. If I told him I was with Harry it would just give him and Summer more reason to talk. “I was sleeping over at Katie’s.”

“Katie’s? Like Katie from upper year piano? Like party apartment Katie?”

“Yes, like that Katie.”

“You guys are friends?”

“Yes.” How would he know? He barely knows anything about me anymore.

The thought echoes around in my head with such a ferocity it gives me goose bumps. Was I losing a friend? Were we really best friends anymore?

“Huh, ok.”

I can tell by the way his voice sounds that he believes me, which allows me to relax and run a wet hand through my hair in an attempt to groom myself. I looked like a hot mess wearing someone’s (Harry?) shirt and just my underwear. Giant bags forming under my eyes weren’t doing me any favours.

“What time, Ni?” I ask, as I shake the remaining water off of my hands.

“5:30.” He still sounds irritated.

“What time is it now?”

I can hear him shuffling around.

“2:00.”

“Shit. Ok, I’m off to pack. I love you.”

It slips out and I feel like I’m going to drown myself in the toilet. I just told him I loved him. Oh GOD.

But he laughs casually.

“Love you too, Becks. But seriously, be a person every once in awhile?”

And he’s gone. What the hell did that mean?

Maybe I was a robot.

Except, I guess a robot wouldn’t be sitting in her friend’s bathroom crying because the love of her life was mad at her.

After splashing my face with cold water and rubbing my toothpaste-coated finger inside of my mouth, I emerged into the bedroom once more.

“Hey.” Katie mutters hoarsely, her dark hair fanning out from around her head. Her pale pink spaghetti-strapped tank top hung loosely from her frame. She had three tiny microdermals running down her sternum. Amazing how someone could look so beautiful first thing in the morning. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…I’m alright. A bit woozy and out of it, but not hungover, thankfully.” I lean lazily against her dresser. I was too tired to stand up normally.

“Yeah, you puked a shit ton last night, not surprised.”

She pats a space on the bed beside her and outstretches her arms.

I hesitantly make my way over, but as soon as I reach the bed, she pulls me into her, making me her little spoon.

It takes me a moment, but I relax into her touch.

“Thanks, I needed this.” She croaks into my ear, her breath tickling the side of my face. “I’ve had such a shit week.”

“Did you tell them?” I say it so quietly I wonder if she hears me.

“Yeah.” She sighs, causing goosebumps to rise on my bare arms. She notices and gives me a soft rub. “Harry was onboard before Liam and Sophia. It turned into some sort of house division and we must have argued for a good two hours about what to do.”

“I’m glad Harry was on your side.”

“Me too. I feel like he’s the only sane one in this house. Like, he’s more sane than me to be honest.”

I laugh, and she holds me tighter.

Summer had tried to spoon me once or twice when she was drunk, but I never felt fully comfortable with the situation. However, this I didn’t mind. Maybe it’s because I was running out of people I could trust. I trusted Katie, almost immediately.

“Who’s going to take Louis’ role?”

“I think Zayn.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“No kidding. I mean, it took some convincing. Zayn likes to pretend he’s too cool for stuff like that. But I know when his friends need him he’ll come running.”

“He strikes me as the tall, dark, mysterious type.”

“With a soft center? Spot on.”

We lay in silence, and I slowly find myself shutting my eyes. Katie’s warmth kept me relaxed and temperate, unlike earlier when I was being smothered.

“Where is—“

“Harr—“

We both pause.

“Go ahead.” I tell her.

“Harry left for his exam an hour ago, he says he’ll be back by 5:00ish. What were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask where Harry was.” I laugh.

She joins me, her laughter vibrating my body.

“Katie?”

“Mm?”

“Can you tell me what happened last night?”

She erupts into laughter, releasing me and sitting up straight.

“Do you seriously not remember?”

My stomach lurches. Oh god, how badly did I embarrass myself?

“Some of it…?”

“Apparently you threw up in the hallway of your dorm.”

I stare at her blankly for a minute.

“FUCK.” I roll over, face first into the pillow.

Katie is laughing away, while the humiliation takes hold of me.

Harry had seen me puke probably all over myself.

“Harry said he was more concerned than disgusted.”

“Lovely.” I state, but I’m rather muffled.

Katie chuckles in response.

“He brought you back here, and felt it would be weird if you woke up beside him, so he asked me if you could stay in my bed. And I said yes, naturally.”

I peek an eye out at her. She’s smiling graciously at me. I note how certain pieces of her hair managed to look light brown in the light.

“Do you feel embarrassed?” She asks after a moment running her hands through my hair.

“Yes.” I groan, half in pleasure, half in shame.

“You shouldn’t. I’ve literally seen Harry piss himself he was so drunk.”

I scowl at her, but she sends me back a disgustingly devious grin, and shrugs.

“Trust me, he doesn’t care. Harry is all about ‘not letting drunk girls be in danger’, and being overprotective of his friends. He’s like everyone’s dad.”

“Everyone’s Hipster Dad.”

“Yup.”

I roll my eyes, and flip myself over so I’m lying on my back, looking up at Katie. She’s still playing with my hair, smiling gently.

I try to find a way to subtly ask Katie for details about Harry--how he might feel for me, or how his brain works—but my mind draws a blank.

“I like that you guys are friends.” She says after a minute, licking her thumb and swiping away some loose makeup under my eye.

I’m pretty sure she can see my face visibly light up.

“Yeah?”

“For sure. You both are little troubled booboos who need sensitive, artsy, loving people in your lives.”

Harry said something like that to me not too long ago, but Katie managed to voice it in a way where I didn’t really mind.

“Why do you say I’m like that?”

“I’m good with reading people. I knew Louis was a fucker the minute I met him. I also knew after twenty minutes of meeting Harry that we’d be good friends.” She begins to plait her own hair. “And here we are, three years later, and Harry and I are best friends and living with each other.”

I guess so.

“What time is it?” I grunt.

She shuffles over to the end of her bed and presses a button on her phone.

“2:30.”

“I should go.” I sit up once more, trying to ignore the world spinning around me. “Gotta pack. I’m heading back home tonight.”

“Oh! Have fun! Send your parental figures a hello from me!” She chirps.

I nod, but I know I’ll be doing nothing of the sort.

I roll off the bed and pick myself up from off the floor and begin to seek out my pants.

“They’re in the wash.” Katie tells me while extending her arms above her head in a stretch.  “Those are Harry’s.”

I’m wearing a plain white t-shirt that might as well be a dress since I’m swimming in it. Aside from that I’m onlu wearing my own underwear. Lovely.

“I dunno. He apparently half-dressed you before dropping you off in here.”

“Half…dressed…?”

“He handed you shit and you put it on yourself.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” I say it like I care, but honestly, I was more thankful that Harry had been so respectful and kind about the whole ordeal. Evidently, my anxiety would make the situation difficult to digest any which way none the less.

“No time for breakfast?” She sends me a pout.

“No, unfortunately not. But when I get back I owe you one. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Twas all Harry, m’dear.”

“I should probably thank him.” I say to myself more than Katie.

“You can leave him a note.” She gestures to her desk, where a variety of writing utensils and a pile of paper lay.

“Thanks.” I lazily make my way over.

My pencil hovers over the paper, daring me to write what was truly on my mind.

‘Hi Harry.

I was filled in on the missing details of last night, and I just wanted to say thank you. I’m sorry that I may have jeopardized your singing test. I’m also sorry that I may have ruined your night.

Have a nice break!

Becca’

There were so many things I wanted to add in.

‘I can’t wait to see you after the break’, or ‘I’m totally going to wear your shirt again because it’s super comfy’, or a simple ‘I’m sorry I asked you to kiss me and then subsequently yelled at you when you wouldn’t.’

The memory sends a shock of disgust through me. I can’t believe I asked him that. Goddammit Becca. You’re an idiot. A drunken idiot.

“His room is down the hall on the right, the one that isn’t a complete pigsty--that would be the Sophiam Room.”

“Will do. Um, can I…”

I prod at a pair of leggings left on the floor with my toe.

“Go for it.”

As I pull at the crotch area of the makeshift trousers I make my way to Harry’s room. My breath catches in my throat as I approach the door. You’d think I was waiting for someone to open it for me.

I slowly twist the knob and take a peek inside.

The walls are a deep grayish purple. The room is rather minimal and clean. All that is visible is a desk, a bed, a few band posters, a belt on the floor, and a night stand with a couple of books sitting on top of it. It’s uncomfortably plain, no real trace of humanity.

I enter hesitantly, trying to decide where to place the note. I inhale deeply, the unsurprising smell of cinnamon hitting me.

I sneak a quick look at the books on his bedside: the novel version of Spring Awakening (1906), Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, and a plain black notebook.

A journal.

I feel my fingers twitch, dying to open it and read it.

Don’t be a child, Becca, respect people’s privacy.

Oh god. The curiosity is going to kill me. He wouldn’t even be home until way later…I could find out everything…His initial intentions when he met me, maybe even a li--I hear a creak and spin around.

No one greets me, but my heart refuses to settle.

That creak is enough of a reason for me to leave the note on his pillow and scuttle out of his room.

\---

“—He wanders in, wearing only a sock over his parts. Scares the life out of her.”

Niall and I erupt into laughter, eyes watering, cheeks hurting, face reddening.

I remove my shoes and curl my legs up into myself, resting my head on the window. I try to catch glimpses of the buildings passing by, but it gives me a headache.

The ride reminds me of high school all over again; the day after Niall got his license he surprised me with a lift to school. The two of us lived almost an hour out, but felt the distance was worth it due to the acclaimed arts program that we had both gotten into.

It became a part of our friendship—Niall honking angrily outside of my house as I shoveled food into my mouth, simultaneously putting on my shoes and coat.

He would be blaring The Eagles or some sort of classic rock the whole ride there while I finished off the lasts of my breakfast. It was just how it was. By Year 11 we got tired of the repetitive Classic Rock station and started making our own mix CDS, hence the Horan/Zhu 2k10 Playlist. It involved a mixture of angsty bullshit rock, miscellaneous rap, and even a couple of classical numbers we enjoyed.

I had secretly been looking forward to listening to it again today, but figures Niall’s edition of the Playlist was far too scratched to be usable. I tried not to look disappointed.

“How’s Spring…?”

I stare at him curiously for a moment.

“Spring Awakening?” I finish for him.

“Yeah.”

I turn to face the window once more, giving me full reign to roll my eyes. Way to give a fuck, Horan.

“Good. Pretty good. I don’t even think I truly understood the large amount of talent we have in this school until we started working on some of the musical numbers.”

“Really? Like who?”

He asks this like he’s waiting for me to say someone in particular.

“There’s this girl who plays Ilse named Perrie and her voi—“

“Is Louis good?”

He must think I’m stupid or something. I try to keep my voice even and my features unwavering. I turn back to face him.

“He’s fantastic.”

He’s also getting kicked out for being a creep.

“Huh.” Is all he says, nudging his sunglasses down his nose so he can get a better look in his rearview mirror. “Cool.”

“Niall.”

He doesn’t look at me.

“Yeah?” He responds nonchalantly.

“I’ve known you far too long to know that that wasn’t a loaded question.” I always manage to surprise myself.

He doesn’t even lift his eyes from the road.

“Did you guys fuck?” He asks, in the same tone that one might ask about the weather.

I almost groan aloud.

“No. We didn’t.” I try to keep the venom from showing through in my words.

“You’re not interested in him?”

No, Mom.

“No, I’m not. And nothing has ever happened between us.”

Big fucking lie. Biiiiig fuckinng lie.

Niall stays quiet as he switches lanes, getting off the highway and starting towards the rather scenic route to our hometown. We pass by one of my favourite parks that I used to play in when I was young.

“Louis fucked up. Like, he’s really fucked up.” Well, that’s an understatement and a half.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He grumbles, flexing his fingers against the wheel. I remember the countless hand massages I would give him after a long day of guitar practice.

“I heard he tried to rape a girl.” I say this like I don’t know the truth. In the reflection of my window I can see Niall sneak a look at me through the corner of his eye.

“Seriously?”

I nod.

“Shit. What a fucking twat.”

“Yeah.”

A twat that I’d still fuck.

I feel a sickening lurch in my stomach, that could maybe just be a side effect of drinking last night, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. My brain had been trying for excuses for Louis ever since Katie told me the truth, and I hated that about myself. I mean, I hated myself for a lot of things, and this was just more shit to add to the pity party.

“So you’re not interested in anyone than, yeah?”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Nope. No one.”

“No one?” He repeats, a hint of suspicion in his choice.

I consider throttling his neck, but Lord knows that would risk my life as well.

“Out with it, will you?” I throw my head back against the headrest with a melodramatic grandiosity.

“Sum just said that you mentioned being interested in someone a week or so ago.”

I completely forgot about that. I could feel my web of lies getting tangled and messy.

“No…? I think she misunderstood, maybe?”

I play it off so casually I could kiss myself.

He presses his lips together, but nods, still clearly quite apprehensive.

After a moment of playing with the dial of the radio (and subsequently giving up), a frown takes over Niall’s face.

“Um, so, I think me and Sum are coming to the end of our “honeymoon phase” or whatever.”

My heart swells with hope.

“What makes you say that?” I prop my feet up on the dash.

“I dunno, we used to talk until our faces went blue, and fuck all the time…” I nearly cringe at the thought. Walking in on it one time was more than enough to scar me permanently. “ And now we just kind of sit around and do nothing, and we don’t shag half as much.”

I nod, pretending to care. But I am in Heaven. Absolute Heaven.

“We also got into a fight.” He laughs sadly.

I could cry. This was too good. This was the best. Oh, God.

“’Bout what?” I try to keep my voice from quivering.

“She felt we weren’t spending enough time with you.” Well, at least she was doing something right. “But I told her that y—“

“Well, you don’t.” I interrupt.

He scowls, taking his eyes off the road to send me an irritated look.

“But…you’re always so busy, I just kind of ass—“

“No, I’m not. I have a lot of free t—“ I cut in.

“—Well you don’t message me?” He snaps.

“Because you’re always busy…?” I state, imitating his tone.

His face starts to grow blotchy and red in frustration. I was familiar with this look, but I was by far too fired up to back down now.

“You started dating Summer and you stopped coming by.” I say it like it’s fact, because, well, it is.

“But you said you felt like a third wheel!” He cried defensively, his driving growing slightly more reckless.

“Well, I am? That doesn’t mean I never want to see you guys!” I sputter, fumbling over my own words. I could feel my headache getting worse.

“But then you went and joined Spring Awakening, so we th—“ He’s almost yelling.

“—Like two months after you guys started dating. I felt lonely and too much free time now that my friends stopped giving a flying f—“

He breathes loudly out of his nose, before cutting me off again.

“—You did the exact same fucking thing to me in high school, Becca!” Now he’s yelling.

“That was fucking high school AND my first boyfriend!” I cry, sending an exasperated look his way. Are you fucking kidding me!?

“Summer’s my first serious girlfriend!” He challenges, sneering at the road ahead.

“Yeah, except we’re not in high school anymore!” I mock, pulling my feet off the dash so I can pivot my body towards his.

His face is beet red and he whips the wheel to the side, pulling us off the road. I clutch onto my seatbelt in fear. I’m practically paralyzed as he comes to a bumpy, drawn out stop.

The tension is palpable. Niall removes his sunglasses, and takes off his hat, throwing it in the backseat.

“Tell me something.”

I swallow.

“Are you in love with me?”

My lack of response is all he needs.

The rest of the drive we spend in silence.


	12. Don't Do Sadness

Study week drifts by at an achingly slow pace.

I memorize my bedroom ceiling, spending most of my time tucked away in my old room. It smells like the detergent my mom always uses, and it’s uncomfortably empty now that most of my stuff is moved to my dorm.  

I can’t bring myself to sing, or start on homework, or really do much else than sit on my computer and watch Netflix. I try to avoid any emotional pieces, and spend most of my days watching The Simpsons or Adventure Time. I feel like I could snap at any given moment and it’s horrifying.

I kept fooling myself into believing that I had run out of tears to cry, but I still managed to muster some. I kept creating more reasons to not eat, more reasons to stay asleep, and more reasons to hate myself.

My step-dad and mom occasionally came to check in on me, but they know that when I’m in one of “my moods” that they just need to wait it out. Episodes like these were not new to them. They did what they could: feed me, hand me vitamin D, try to get me to be productive, ask me questions, and occasionally my Mom would come in and rub my back.

A couple of times I would come out of my room, greasy and frail, and make my way down the stairs to sit down for a family dinner. Immediately bombarded with questions about school, Spring Awakening and Niall, I would give up halfway on my meal and return to my cave.

My Mom would chase after me up the stairs apologizing profusely and telling me she ‘loved me’ and needed me to ‘try’.

After an hour of muted squabbling occurring below my feet, my Mom knocks at my door. She thinks I should try for new meds, and maybe even a couple of therapy sessions.

We had gone through this before though. It was cyclical.

It takes me a night’s sleep, but I agree to it, and plan on following through once I was back at school. Maybe join a group therapy or something.

For the first time in forever I look forward to something: maybe getting better.

The little things scattered across my room remind me of him; Poorly made birthday cards, graduation photos, and a rock we had found on a band trip. I wondered if he had thought of me at all this week, and if his thoughts were anything but disgust.

I had fucked up everything. I could have said nothing to Summer. I could have lied to Niall. I could have gotten over my feelings instead of sitting in my own shit. I could be perfectly content right now. Well, minus the whole me having clinical depression thing. 

Niall sends me one text the night before I leave: ‘Do you need a ride?’. I leave it unanswered. My step-dad, endlessly concerned for my wellbeing (bless his heart), decided he would drive me back himself.

The day I leave I check to my weight to see I’ve lost 3 pounds in a week. My bra is a little loose.

 ---

“Becca, come on!” Liam cries from the other side of the practice room.

I feel my face flush in embarrassment. My stomach aches due to the lack of food in my system. I noticed a few cast mates double take when I entered the room. It wasn’t just my imagination: I had lost weight.

“Fuck.” I hiss under my breath. “I’m really sorry, Liam.”

“It’s fine, just…take fifteen, run your lines, I’ll be working with Zayn on his solo.” He shakes his head, and I swallow. He’s pissed, alright. Zayn winces and sends me an apologetic look.

I nod dejectedly. Running my left hand through my greasy fringe. My hair was now reaching just past my chin and driving me absolutely nuts. I couldn’t remember the last time it was long and I hated it. God knows I didn’t have the skill to cut it myself or the money to get it done.

“Hey.”

I realize I’m still holding Harry’s hand—a necessity for the scene. I let go quickly, wiping off some of my sweat onto my trousers.

“You ok?” He swivels his body to face mine. Even when he’s sitting on the floor he appears intimidating and tall. 

I look around before I begin to divulge information to him. Katie begins to play the piano, ending the uncomfortable silence in the room. The brilliant part about co-directors is that they split tasks. Despite the lack of space in the practice room, Sophia/Liam managed to run two simultaneous rehearsals, having Katie constantly switching piano pieces in order to accompany either Group A or Group B. She was a champion in my eyes.

I stare blankly at Harry, who sends me back a frown.

“Shit week at home?” He mutters softly, but I can make out what he’s saying. 

“Yeah.”

He pulls my head into his chest. Ever since we had broken the seal of hugging I had grown more at ease with his touch. I could hear his heart thrumming in my ear, and the soft material of his t-shirt provided a sense of safety temporarily (even though it kind of smelt like sweat). I try to hold back tears. God knows, I had done enough crying this past while.

“Becca, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but—“

“I should have my lines memorized, I know.” I laugh into his shirt, and I feel him join me.

“Lets motor through this scene. You tell me about your week after rehearsal, and maybe after class before Sunday we can throw in some quick one-on-one rehearsals so you can feel extra comfortable.”

I groan, but nod into his shirt, causing him to release me. He peers down at me, with an expression that is so goddamn concerned I feel like I’m going to weep. He looks at me like the way my Mother does.

“Alright, let’s give this a go.” I reply with an exasperated tone.

The two of us sit facing each other speaking the lyrics to the song ‘The Word of Your Body’ until I finally feel comfortable. I send him a meaningful look, and the two of us switch into the position that is choreographed for us—me sitting on my knees and him cross-legged.

We mumble our lines and singing under our breath now in order to perfect the actions. “Just too unreal, all this. Watching the words fall from my lips…” I begin, remembering Liam’s directions: do not look at Harry, be demure.

“Baiting some girl with hypotheses…” Harry mumbles, gazing over at my hand, which lays on the ground beside me.

“Haven't you heard the word of your body?” We sing simultaneously, voices wobbly as Harry reaches over and tentatively takes my hand.

I don’t even need to act, because every time he reaches for me, a surge lights itself inside of me. I felt like an open wound, everything seemingly caused a reaction to my body as of late.

“Don't feel a thing you wish…” Harry continues, still avoiding my eyes.

“Grasping at pearls with my fingertips.” Our fingers slowly lace to the timing of the song (that was currently playing in our heads.)

“Holding her hand like some little tease.” He sings out with a little more breath in order to hit the pitch correctly, his large hands warming mine. I could feel my heart grow heavy, clearly far too into this makeshift practice.

“Haven't you heard the word of my wanting?” We sing in unison, slowly turning ourselves to each other in the ridiculous contemporary-esque dance moves given to us. “O, I'm gonna be wounded. O, I'm gonna be your wound. O, I'm gonna bruise you. O, you're gonna be my bruise

Just too unreal, all this.”

By this point we are standing hand in hand singing, the two of us trying to portray the innocence and awkwardsness of the characters as their sexual tension blooms. But I didn’t feel wanting, I felt an aching. “Watching his world slip though my fist.”

Harry spins me slowly into his arms, and I feel my heartbeat hiccup.

“Playing with her in your fantasies.” He sings, his breath hitting the back of my head. He shouldn’t be looking down at me for this part, but he is. His hands trace along my wrists as he draws me in tighter. I could sob. 

“Haven't you heard a word, how I want you?” Harry uses his own arms to draw mine onto my own chest; he intentionally runs his hands over my breasts slowly. I try to grow more accustomed to the sexual nature of the choreography, but I wonder if Harry can feel my heartbeat as he traces his hands by it. “O, I'm gonna be wounded. O, I'm gonna be your wound.

“O, I'm gonna bruise you. O, you're gonna be my bruise” Harry releases me briefly only to link hands with me again so that we can lower ourselves down back to the place we began.

The two of us sit in silence, huffing quietly. 

“You were shaking.” He says to the floor, running his hand through his hair (per usual). 

“I was?” I hadn’t noticed. 

“Yeah.” He repeats.

Liam gives out one last critique to Zayn before heading back in our direction.

“Oh, sorry.” I mumble.

He leaves it.

\---

I show up at Katie’s door, bangs slicked back by sweat and pants falling down my hips. Due to my sudden weight loss all of my jeans decided it was time to give up on being my friend. Apparently, so did Niall.

“Becccaaaaaaa!” She lets out as she swings open the door and embraces me. Surprisingly, despite how sweaty and shitty I felt, the hug was well needed and appreciated.

“Katie!” I weakly respond, my exhaustion taking over me. I could collapse in her arms then and there. 

“You look exhausted, Beckybop.” I laugh at her choice of nickname, and wiggle out of her arms.

“I am. I’m so tired.” I sigh, as she snatches my bag from me and throws it into the front hallway.

“Too tired…” Katie steps out of the doorframe for a second, when she returns she is holding a neatly rolled joint between her fingers, “for this?” 

“Not at all.” I laugh as she grabs her coat from off the couch and shuts the door behind her.

“Excellent.” She purrs as we begin to wander down the street. The area was simple student housing, and frighteningly enough the security was very low. Thankfully due to the smallness of the campus, the crime activity was relatively low. In fact, I’d never heard of anything of the like happening.

The street is quiet except for the sound of Katie’s lighter being put to use. With a three inhales, and three exhales, Katie passes the joint over to me. I begin to take in the smoke as she speaks.

“Louis and Eleanor got back together.”

My eyes bug wide as I let the smoke escape from my lips. It comes out as a massive cloud and I’m forced to wave it away.

“What? Why” My face twists into an ugly scowl.

Katie carefully lifts the object of desire from my fingers and places it against her lips.

“I couldn’t tell you, to be honest,” She coughs as she releases the air, “She probably feels lonely. It’s hard to let go of someone you’ve been dating off and on for so long.”

“Too bad he’s such a shit.” I grunt, hiking up my jeans for the millionth time.

“Too bad he’s such a shit.” She repeats, laughing.

I spare a look at her. Her laugh doesn’t match her expression. She looks tired and hurt, maybe something close to what I looked like. What a stupid pair we were.

“She just doesn’t care about the whole…?” I begin, trying to formulate the words. Thankfully Katie understands.

“She said he’s ‘learned his lesson since Liam kicked him out of the musical’.” She sighs, popping her lips for an added touch.

“Oh. Good…? I guess. Do you think that’s true?” I sincerely am not sure.

“Doubtful.”

We finish the last of our joint and spin around to circle back to the apartment. Frankly, this is the best I’ve felt in ages. My head feels light, my mind feels worriless, and the physical ache of my muscles had eased.

“I’m so hurt. I don’t even know where to start. I think I’ve cried like five times today. Losing friends is the shittiest feeling.” Katie couldn’t have said it better. It was as if she had read my mind. My heart throbs in my chest, but I’m high enough to let my mind wander and to let my anxiety go.

“It’s worse than heartbreak in some ways.” I wasn’t even sure if I really meant what I was saying.

“Kind of, yeah. Heartache is immense and powerful for like a chunk of time. The end of a friendship hurts and continues to hurt kind of forever. Like it doesn’t really go away. Or maybe that’s just me?” Katie adds.

“Depends on how the friendship ended, I guess.” I mutter, as we approach the porch to where Zayn and Harry are sitting. I can tell even from a distance that they had a similar idea to Katie and I.

Zayn exhales an elegant smoke ring into the still night air.

“When they’re the one that betrays you. That’s the worst.”

I nod, head spinning.

Was I that person?

Harry’s face breaks into a smile when he spots me. His big dumb dimples coming out to play.

I hear Katie mumble something under her breath but I’m much too high to even care.

Zayn gets up to greet us. I nod, and with my consent he wraps his arms around her and me. He smells of weed and cologne and I am not complaining.

He backs up, big goofy grin spread across his face. All of us just sort of giggle in unison. 

“Speak of the Devil.” He laughs, turning back for Harry’s approval.

“Didn’t realize we were such an interesting topic.” Katie says, a contagious smile spread wide on her face.

I can’t seem to stop smiling, everything is just…funny.

“Well, not both of you.” Zayn notes offhandedly, as if he were thinking aloud by accident.

I turn to Harry, who looks incredibly relaxed in an oversized white T-shirt and low hung sweats. He pats the spot beside him on the patio.

I look back at Katie and Zayn, but they are too busy speaking in almost entirely inside jokes. I shrug and join Mr. Frog.        

As I settle myself down onto the cold step, I slowly lean my head against Harry’s arm. His shirt is so soft and his skin is warm against my face. I’m so comfortable I could fall asleep. Without moving too much he pats my hand closest to his. I smile a little, my cheeks warm. 

I peer up to find both Katie and Zayn staring at me. He leans over to Katie and mutters something into her ear, and she nods. I can’t help but frown and quirk an eyebrow in response.

“Haaaarry, I’m stealing Zannyyyy. He’s gonna look over the lyrics to the new piece I composed!” Katie chimes out, her voice sounds like liquid gold. She looks happy.

Harry, who is too engaged in playing Solitaire, simply gives her a thumbs up and continues to play.

Even after Zayn and Katie have left, the two of us sit in silence. He taps lightly at his screen as I shut my eyes and drift into a pleasant headspace, face still squashed against him.

After some time he shifts slightly, startling me into lifting my head and opening my eyes once more.

“You ok, Becks?” He croons, shutting off his phone.

The nickname triggers a small stinging sensation in my throat, oddly enough.

“Right now I am.”

He nods, waiting for me to continue, but I’m not even sure what to say.

“I’m an idiot.” I finally manage, since it’s the only way I can vocalize my emotions currently. Despite Niall and I’s friend “break up” circling in my head for over a week, I still couldn’t find the right words to express it.

His face turns very serious. Possibly the most serious I’ve ever seen him before. If I wasn’t high right now I think my heart would have stopped. 

“Did I do this?” He asks, voice low and scratchy. He crinkles his brow in a melodramatic fashion. 

“Do…what?” I clearly was not on the same page as him.

He lifts up my arm delicately, as if to refer to the fragility of my…

I let out a laugh, which causes his frown to deepen.

“Don’t feed your ego, you nerd.” I laugh for almost another minute. His face is bright red with shame. “It’s not because of you!”

“Are you sick, Becca?” He cuts me off sternly.

“Well, sort of?” I find his eyes being drawn to my collarbones. I can feel myself growing irritated with his invasive voyeurism. “Technically, yes.”

He looks shocked, which causes me to laugh again.

“I have clinical depression, Harry. I don’t have leukaemia, drop it, okay?” 

He’s not smiling, but his expression eases up.

 “Oh.”

I blink.

“Me too.” He states matter-of-factly.

We both just stare off in different directions and nod. Apparently the two of us are allergic to eye contact.

I feel his gaze drift onto my face and I decide to take the risk and meet him halfway.

“Do you take meds?” I ask, scratching nervously at the palm of my hand.

The air grows very still and cold, suddenly.

“Yeah, you?” He sounds almost scared.

“Yeah.”

The calmness of my high was no longer there, but it was replaced by a new sense of comfort with Harry. My friend: Harry. Harry is the boy who likes my band shirts, and pushes me to try, and thinks I have talent.

“That’s nice to hear, hey?”

“Why?”

Harry is the boy who smokes joints inside, who grows his hair out as revenge on his ex, who takes care of me when I’m too drunk.

“Everyone shits on meds, yeah?”

“I feel like most people do until they realize how helpful they are.”

“Like wouldn’t you take meds if you were sick with anything else?”

Harry is the boy who has been my friend.

“Bad week at home?”  He pokes me lightly in the arm. It’s meant to be playful, but it oddly feels aggressive due to how relaxed I am.

“Home is isolating…” I inhale deeply. “…And you know, he may have found out I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, shit.” Harry’s jaw drops.

I want to reach out and touch his face. Had I touched his face before? When we were drunk? Why did I feel most comfortable with him when I wasn’t sober?

“He seemed angry…and he didn’t really say much. We haven’t spoken since then, actually…” I swallow, thinking for a moment. “I think I’ve lost a friend?”

My voice dwindles off and I can him give me a dumb pout from the corner of my eye (I’ve already managed to break eye-contact). He places his hand on mine lightly, similar to the way he did in rehearsal earlier. I don’t reciprocate in any way, but I can tell he is aware that I’m thankful.

“He’s missing out.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m serious!” He laughs, removing his hand.

“Alright, alright, yeah, yeah.” I brush off my sadness with a surprising amount of ease. I imagine this has something to do with weed. I wish I could be high forever sometimes. “How was your break?”

He coughs, doing some weird fake thinking. I think Harry loses his ability to pretend when he’s high. I mean, I’d never tell him that. But there is something kind of fun in having the ability to see through his tactics. 

“Uh…you know…I…” He turns to me, deadpan. “Memorized my LINES.”

I nearly bust a gut. We somehow end up shifting back into our first arrangement—my head leaning lightly against him.

“But actually…Uh, I slept, smoked up, read a bit, chilled with Z, got laid, watched the Wire. Fun things for the most part, but I’m ready to go back to class.”

I stopped really listening after he mentioned the whole ‘got laid’ thing. My brain became a mixing pot of letters, trying to form into words. I genuinely could not place myself. The fact that I couldn’t get my shit together was seemingly representative that there was something fucking wrong with me.

I fucking hate myself. It’s as if I thought I owned Harry. Harry doesn’t belong to me. He won’t just run around and follow my beck and call. I reprimanded myself silently for assuming Harry would (for some reason) remain chaste for me?

I couldn’t even understand why I was thinking like this.

“That sounds nice.” I wasn’t sure how long of a pause I took, but hopefully Harry was high enough to not notice.

“It was.” I don’t dare look up at his face, but I know he’s happy, I can hear it. In fact, he’s probably bloody beaming right now.

“I’m sorry I asked you to kiss me.” My head still feels jumbled and I feel as if I have no control over my actions.

Harry laughs.

I’m so stupid. I’m so embarrassed. I’m so fucking stupid.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick about it, love.”

The combination of the pet name and nonchalance further confuses me. I try to imagine Katie in this situation. Katie would turn to Harry, smiling beautifully, and ask him flat up whether he liked her romantically. I guess, the difference would be, that if I were Katie maybe he would actually be interested in m—

Since when the fuck did I care? Just because Niall was out of the picture did not mean I’d just move on to the next breathing creature.

“I was drunk.” I shrug.

“Me too.”

I pull my head off of his shoulder, which surprises him slightly. I stand up and stretch out my arms. He gazes up at me curiously.

“I’m also sorry I didn’t know my lines today.”

His green eyes practically sparkle under the light and it’s so obnoxious. “It’s all good. Do you wanna rehearse maybe tomorrow before our rehearsal on Tuesday?”

I nod, pulling my neck to each side, letting it release with little popping noises.

“Did you know,” He stands up to join me, and is suddenly towering over my body. “That the original scene was a rape scene?”

“Like, it wasn’t just a sex scene?” I peer up at him, watching little tendrils fall into his face. I want to reach up and run my hands through it. What does his hair feel like?

“Yeahup. Caused an uproar in our house. Katie told Liam she wouldn’t the score if he even did the show. They ended up compromising, though.”

“Clearly.” I mutter. “I had no idea.”

I mean, I knew why, but I didn’t know it had happened. I was proud of her for fighting, though. 

“I’m glad, though. I woudn’t want to do a scene like that with you.”

For the second time that evening Harry had said something ambiguous enough to throw me off guard. He seemed to have perfected the tactic of confusing the shit out of me.

“Well, it’s acting. I understand that.” I say half-heartedly, pushing up my glasses a bit in an attempt to hide my feelings. But of course, he catches on quick.

“No, I…” He sighs, knowing that he once more had gotten himself stuck in his own words. “I just mean the scene is awkward enough as it is…?” 

I raise a singular eyebrow. “It is?”

He looks around quickly, his mind evidently racing. “I mean, like, it’s not, but you’re already kind of…” He’s sort of gesturing at nothing at this point.

“Sexually awkward?” I finish for him.

He drops his hands in defeat, his face pulled into an unreadable expression.

“Thanks.” I spit, before giving him a small wave and heading down the stairs and into the street.

He doesn’t chase after me (surprise), but I can hear him stuttering to put a sentence together. After a moment I hear the sound of the door shutting in the distance. 

Fuck Harry.

Harry may be my friend, but he’s not a good one.

I realize halfway down the street that I’ve left my knapsack at Katie’s.

“Motherfucker.” I whisper, even though I want to scream it at the top of my lungs.

I remain steady and weigh my options. After a long moment, I decide to take the risk and go back for it.

I approach the front door for the third time that night. Just before I knock I take a pause. I hear the sounds of an argument occurring inside the living room. I can’t help but to hold still and eavesdrop.

“—I fucked up. I actually fucked up so h—“

It sounds like Harry and my heart beats wildly as I listen to him, and by the way it sounds I can tell he is frazzled and pacing.

“I fucking told you not to pull all that w—“

That’s Zayn, who is sounding surprisingly upset.

“She might just be asexual and if you l—" 

“Yeah, except like I basically have n—“

I know they’re talking about me and my body rejects it out of fright and I take back down the stairs.

I try to tell myself that ‘no one hates me as much as I do’.

Whatever was happening in there I didn’t want to know.

I run home as if I am being chased by my own shadow.


	13. The Guilty Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: BDSM, choking, slapping, scratching, etc.

I sleep so deeply that I don’t even remember my dreams, but when I wake up my body feels like I’ve run a marathon. My heart feels so goddamn heavy I can barely get up to answer the door.

I make my way in the darkness, blind without my glasses. I’ve grown to memorize my room and manage to make it to the door with no incidents.

My hand hesitates as it reaches the doorknob. It would be so easy right now just to pretend I’m fast asleep. Maybe I could just crawl back into my bed and ignore this.

As if on cue, the knocking stops and it falls silent. A ringing noise sounds in my head. After a moment of baited breath, my phone goes off, scaring the living shit out of me.

I can hear my roommate groaning in protest (I didn’t blame her this time, this was just annoying) and rolling onto her side. I pad across the room to grab my phone, whose screen is lit up with the words ‘Frog Boy’. I reject the call, grab my keys, and toiletries and open the door knowing full well what was about to happen. Harry, whose phone is still pressed to his ear looks at me in surprise as I brush by him to the dorm bathroom.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” He calls after me as he speed walks down the hallway. His long legs helping him catch up in a matter of seconds. I notice that he’s wearing this god-awful black hat – like a mini sunhat or something.

“It’s 7:30 AM, be nice and keep it down.” I note evenly, as I continue my march down the hallway.

“Classes start at 8.” He replies, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his black skinnies.

“Not all of us are early risers.” I come to a halt before turning my head over my shoulder and seething. “Like, my roommate.”

He ignores my comment and takes the opportunity to dart in front of me. He peers down at my groggy morning self. I can make out the indent of a dimple on his left cheek. He’s smirking at me.

“Rehearsal tonight? Just you and me?” He’s boring holes into my skin with the intensity of his stare.

I wish he hadn’t barged in here expecting me to simply say yes. I’d really like an apology. More than anything. I want him to apologize and I want him to apologize when he hurts me. Right then and there. 

"You need to grab your backpack anyway."

Right. Fuck.

This friendship has been a series of him fucking up and making up for it without a real apology.

“Shouldn’t you be curling your hair or something?” I grunt, gazing past his arm, trying to see if there was enough room for me to slide by.

“Yes or no?” He repeats, ignoring my question. The industrial lights do no favours for the bags under his eyes.

“Or like…sucking yourself off?” I hiss, pulling at the loose waistband of my pajama pants so that they don’t slide off my hips.

“Yes. Or. No?” He demands, he begins to loom over me as some sort of fucked up intimidation tactic. I decide to not budge. I shift my weight onto one hip and purse my lips.

“Or maybe eating Zayn’s a—“

“YES OR N—“ He roars, and I give him a shove in the stomach, winding him. People were trying to sleep here, dickweed.

“YES. OK. Yes. I’ll do it.” I mutter with exasperation. Harry’s shoulders relax after these words, and his furrowed eyebrows uncrease.

He stands there, catching his breath, waiting for me to say something. I drag my bare feet along the dirty carpet of the hallway—in my half-awake mission to hightail it out of Harry’s presence I forgot my flip-flops.

“How do I know it won’t be ‘awkward’ for some of us?” I remark bitterly, folding my arms over my chest.

He scowls, and reaches forward to touch my arm. I narrowly avoid his hand. He retracts so fast I almost laugh. I kept forgetting that I did in fact have power over him. Today was already beginning with a vicious start. I had been in a particularly foul mood when I returned to my room last night and it had carried over to the next morning.

“You’re not sexually awkward.” He says it so quietly I almost don’t catch it.

“Yes I am, Harry.” I duck under his arm and continue my route to the bathroom.

“No, you’re not!” He says defensively, following me once more.

“No, Harry. I am.” I swivel around to face him. “I can’t come during sex, I can’t flirt with people, and I can’t have sex unless I’m drunk.”

He blinks, unsure what to say. His stupid pink mouth just sort of hangs open. He’s going to catch flies if he keeps that up.

“Here’s the secret, though.” I approach the girl’s bathroom, lingering just outside of it. “Acting is different. Okay?”

He processes my words, and then nods. “Okay.”

“I’m hurt because you made me out to be unlikeable, untalented, and unattr—“

“God, no. Becca. No. I was just high and flustered. I don’t think that of you. No one does.” He’s removed his hat and resumed his nervous habit of running his hands through his hair.

I lean my head back against the cold wall and examine him struggling for a moment. I had power here. Did he deserve this pain? I watch him nearly pull his hair out with anxiety in front of me. He’s a fumbling mess this morning.

“Cool.” Easy and simple. Forgiven.

“Friends?” He practically whimpers.

Let’s be honest—I don’t have friends.

“Unfortunately yes.” I groan, before entering the bathroom.

The last words I catch involve the time I should arrive at his house tonight.

—-

The first thing I think of when we enter his room is who he fucked. He said over the break he had slept with someone and it had been nagging at me all day. I must have been staring at the back of his dumb hat in Music History all class. Even when we had our fifteen-minute break in the middle of the lecture, I found myself sitting in my seat and staring out into the auditorium in a daydream.

My brain does a virtual tour of the girls we both know, the girls in our program, the girls in his year that I couldn’t put a name to. I wanted to know. I imagined her on his bed. Legs tangled in the grey sheets.

For someone who was my friend I realized knew very little about him. I also had this feeling that Harry knew a lot about me. For so long I had thought it was the other way around.

His room instantly fills my nostril with the smell of cinnamon and mint. It sends a shock of memories through me—when he hugged me before break, when he snapped at me during that rehearsal with Zayn, when he turned to me that first day and told me he liked my shirt.

I brush away my wandering thoughts.

With a huff, I begin to remove my sweater—the room far too hot to be wearing an extra layer. I can feel my shirt come up along with it as I pull it over my head.

His cool hands come to my side and hold the t-shirt down. I flinch under his touch, per usual. I almost consider leaving my head inside the sweater so that he doesn’t see my frazzled expression.

I gather my courage and give one long pursed-lip exhale. I try to relax my face as I poke my head out from under the sweater.

“Thanks.” I mutter hoarsely.

He shrugs and simply smiles, letting go of my shirt. But his eyes linger on my chest for a little too long. I realize that he is in fact not reading or staring at anything on it because all I’m wearing is a loose grey tank top. I feel my anxiety levels begin to peak.

“Is anyone home?” The words leave my lips and I realize they seemingly have a more sexual connotation that I intended.

His face tinges a pale pink and this does not go unnoticed by me. He subconsciously (at least I think so) licks his lips.

“Nah, just us. Liam and Sophia are out on date night or something at this club. Katie is sleeping over at her Gran’s.” His eyes keep returning to my collarbones. You’d think he was trying to avoid eye contact…He definitely is.

I nod approvingly before taking a seat on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

He joins me, and the two of us sit in comfortable silence. I remove my socks and place them to the side. He eyes my feet as I wiggle my toes absentmindedly. He tosses his hat onto his bed, clearing his throat in the process. I’m unsure what to say. So I don’t say anything.

I take in his room—and it’s just as I remembered: neutral and relatively empty. I spot the journal placed on his bedside. I still was desperate to read it. That nauseating curiosity I felt last time comes hurtling back. I want to get to know Harry in the way he supposedly knows me.

“Your room is so big compared to mine.” I finally say, breaking the silence. I place my glasses on his desk.

“Yeah. Dorm rooms are a rip-off. I’m paying only a bit more than you and have like ten times the amount of space. Everyone makes that mistake first year.” He rambles, tugging off his rings and throwing them onto the bed as well.

I scowl, and tuck my knees under my chin. He notices my shift in mood and changes the subject.

“Alright, shall we begin?”

I meet his eyes—they’re all mossy and sparkling and playful like the way they looked that day when he was organizing sheet music outside on the bench.

It takes us a good fifteen minutes to get the lines down. We sit there reciting them back and forth with no emotion until I’m practically blue in the face with boredom. Then, being the dictator that he is, Harry makes us do the entire scene “with feeling” and without breaking eye contact because according to him this makes the experience more legitimate. As the rehearsal continues, Harry’s persistent drive becomes a touch overwhelming for me. Maybe this was how he always rehearsed. Maybe he was always a perfectionist.

It isn’t until we’ve start taking on the physical aspect of the scene that he begins to calm down.

Still on the floor, he leans forward, his arms wrapping around my waist as he presses his head to my chest. I wonder if he can hear how fast it’s beating. It’s seemingly reverberating throughout my entire body. Maybe my heart will burst through my fucking chest.

“I can hear your heart beat, Wendla.” His words shake me from my reverie. I gently place my hand onto his head, running my fingers through his curls. I note how soft they are as they slide through my fingers. We hadn’t physically run this scene yet, and something about rehearsing it without anyone there almost made it more difficult and terrifying. At least with Liam’s eyes on us I felt as if it was just a rehearsal, it felt oddly real when we were alone.

Harry pulls his head back and stares at me. Except he’s not Harry right now, he’s Melchior. Harry would never dream of leaning forward like this to kiss me.

“Oh, Melchi—I don’t know.” I sigh breathily, my bangs falling in front of my eyes. I need a hair cut.

I turn my face away, just as the choreography tells me too. At this point, he carefully pulls my head to his own chest. I embrace the wave of cinnamon and warmth. His heart is beating just as fast as mine. I…Okay.

The tension feels palpable. I’m suddenly aware of how very alone and intimate of a setting we are in. I test the boundaries, trying to make sure I’m not imagining this tension. I lightly graze my fingertips against his stomach. I feel his abs flex momentarily in reaction, and it confirms it. Maybe what I had heard through the doors the other night was Harry’s concern for me. Did he like me?

“No matter where I am, I hear it, beating…” He murmurs into my hair. I could almost picture Liam instructing him to project his voice. But the stillness of his room did not call for talking loudly. Maybe he talked about me to Katie.

“And I hear yours.”

For a split second a moment of concern crosses Harry’s face. This is it. Right now. Here. What is this?

Maybe when he approached me those months ago, he had thought I was pretty.

With one hand Harry turns my head to face him, and leans down. His breath hits my face, causing my head to spin and lose my understanding of the room. He lowers his lips onto mine. The kiss feels like nothing. I spend the length of it trying to comprehend that Harry is so close, and he is here. I can’t even fully register it. You’d think I’d gone into shock.

Maybe when I asked to kiss him that night it scared him?

He pulls back and his tongue quickly darts across his lips as if to remember the flavour. I feel my stomach twist. His hair is mussed on the side my hand was pressed against. His face is pink with delight, and his pupils are wide open.

He wanted this. He invited me over for this.

The room is very silent and it feels like the floorboards are falling out from underneath me.

I try to contain myself as I choke out the next line.

“Melchior…”

I prepare my body for the upcoming choreography, inhaling deeply. This time it’s more intense, he’s moved his body now so that he’s holding me up, arms wrapped around my waist. I feel like I’m on fire. My bones feel like they’re made of lightning.

I keep having to remind myself that I am Wendla. And that Wendla was not so keen on…this.

But God knows, I was.

“No—wait – No.” I push against his broad arms, trying to get him to release his grip on me.

For a moment Harry removes himself. It takes him a second to realize I’m still in character and not actually in discomfort.

I wasn’t in discomfort. Oh my God. I was enjoying myself. I was…enjoying this.

Was Harry concerned that I personally was rejecting him? What was that face?

A million questions begin to bubble in my throat.

In a whisk of improvisation Harry begins to press uncertain butterfly kisses up my neck. Why was he doing this?

“Wendla…” He practically whispers, and I can feel all the questions, and anxiety, and concerns disappear.

“Wait—stop. I can’t. We’re not supposed to.”

“What?” He asks me, pulling himself away from my neck. I stare at him, breathing a little too loudly, accepting the fact that a thin coating of sweat was collecting on my face. “Not allowed to what? Love—I don’t know. Is there such a thing?”

'Is there such a thing?' The words echo endlessly.

“I hear your heart…I feel you breathing.” I can’t tell if he’s acting anymore, his green eyes are heavy with something I had never seen before. “Everywhere. The rain…the hay…”

Harry lowers me down against the ground. I can tell he’s trying to see if I’m still comfortable with the scene. This was the first time I’d seen him even break character slightly.

He lowers his upper body onto mine, running his hands up and down my side as he locks his lips with mine once more. Just as Liam told us to.

I give him a harder push than intended, caught in the heat of the moment. With a quiet ‘pop’, Harry withdraws himself, eyes wide, staring at me.

“Please, please, please Wendla…” He brings his body downwards, and places his head onto my chest. Oh god. I feel embarrassed knowing he’s listening to the rapid timing my heart is thrumming at. If he weren’t holding me right now I would melt into the floor.

“Melchior—no…it’s just—“

“What? Sinful?” The words leave his lips but they feel so disconnected from the world I’m in right now.

“No, I don’t know…” I’m surprised I’m still remembering any words right now.

“Then why? Because it’s good?”

I drop character.

The rest of his lines get lost as I grab at his shirt desperately and bring him towards me as fast and hard as I can. He gladly accepts, his hands running clumsily over my body as he seemingly tries to touch me everywhere. He manages to get his hands underneath my shirt and take hold of my hips, pressing his fingers into the indentations. Before I can even register how good this feels, he’s already moved his hands back to my face. Maybe he’s just as lost as I am. 

I raise my hips to his, and he sighs happily into my mouth. I can feel him pressing hard against my leg. I wonder how long he had been aroused for. He grabs a handful of my ass and pulls me up to meet him so that we are groin to groin, twisting in pleasure against each other. Maybe he wants this like I do.

I pull my mouth away to take air in, but before I can even really breathe he’s nipping down my collar and chest. I let out a heady, husky groan, and I feel him twitch against me in response.

I find myself unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his inked skin. I remembered the day he had thrown his shirt at me in jest. Maybe he wanted me to picture him like this. I remembered the stupid dimples that sat at the base of his back. I run my thumbs over them lightly. Tiny goosebumps appear under my fingers and I love it.

He releases me for a moment, placing me down against the floor once more. He awkwardly tugs at his button-up until it comes off. Once free, he immediately brings his hands back to my shirt and nearly rips it off of me.

Once again he’s pulling me upwards so that I’m sitting on his lap, and my breasts are directly face level. I feel like a rag doll under his touch. My head is reeling as he tugs the right cup of my bra to the side and laps at my nipple. He runs his teeth lightly over the tiny bud and I can’t help but let out a noise.

I twist my arms back and undo my bra, throwing it to the floor beside us.

I wasn’t even drunk.

Oh god, neither of us were.

What excuse did I have?

Maybe I had officially lost it.

He switches to my other breast, now massaging the one he had just left. His hands are big enough to cover the entirety of one of them.

“Fuck.” He growls against my chest as he plants hungry kisses up and down my sternum. “I…”

I don’t let him finish his sentence as I slam my mouth onto his. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I want to feel it.

 He’s smiling against me.

And it terrifies me.

I can feel my world slow.

He brings his hand roughly up my body and lightly grazes his digits over my throat.

And for the first time in my entire life I feel a spark of something sexual with another person. Before I know it the words have already left my mouth.

“Strangle me.” I command.

I immediately regret it, and I almost tear myself off of him in embarrassment. I draw my head away from him to catch sight of his expression—he’s chuckling. “You never struck me as the type.” He says lowly, and much to my surprise his grip slowly tightens around my neck. “Tap my arm when you want me to stop.”

Then my air cuts off.

I feel the wetness between my legs increasing.

I can’t even moan, so I simply whimper against him, writhing in erratic circles on his lap. He presses his erection upwards and I can’t help but meet him halfway. He’s panting as he dry humps against me.

Maybe when I told him I had never come with anybody, he imagined himself doing it. Maybe he’ll make me come.

He releases his hold a little to early for my liking. I hadn’t even tapped his arm yet, but I guess he was playing it safe. But now that I had a taste for it, fuck, I—

He sinks his teeth into my shoulder and I yelp in surprise. He immediately pulls off of me, searching for my gaze.

“Are you okay with this?” He’s huffing as he speaks, catching his breath.

I nod, excitedly. I was very okay with this. Very, very, very okay.

“Yes.” I reiterate verbally, entangling my fingers in his curls. I had imagined touching them so many times.

A devious smirk graces his stupid mouth. Those stupid dimples showing up to the scene.

He gets his thumbs underneath the waistband of my yoga pants, forcing me to get off of his lap so he can take them off. He begins to pull them down, and he’s smiling like an idiot as he takes in the dip of my hip bones. I shimmy out of my pants uncomfortably; revealing a pair of slightly oversized nude underwear.

He lets out a laugh of surprise at the sight of them.

“What!? I wasn’t planning for this.” I flush, squirming against the floor and out of his touch.

He grabs onto my waist and pulls me back towards him. Without a seconds hesitation he leaves a trail of tiny nips along my inner thighs. Each bite stinging and sending ripples of excitement through me. He slows as he reaches my sex, and plants tiny butterfly kisses around the edges of my underwear.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want friendly. I didn’t want favours.

I grab a hold of his curls and tug.

He looks up, he’s practically drooling he’s so excited.

“Fuck. Me.” I was beginning to love my new found courage.

He sits back up, eyebrows raised in surprise. But he’s smiling. He nearly races out of his pants, standing up and unbuttoning them faster than I can blink. Someone’s excited. He reveals a pair of bright green briefs and it’s easy to notice the outline of his cock in them. He sends me a look down at me, as if seeking for my approval. I try to keep my face neutral, just to see how he’ll react. The sight is hilarious, and If I wasn’t so turned on it would ruin the mood.

He rolls his eyes as I snicker.

“Desperate much?” I loll my head to the side lazily.

He tugs at his boxers so that they fall to his lower hips. My eyes almost immediately fly down to take a look at his erection—pretty, pink, and pulsing. God.

He’s obviously pleased with my reaction. He uses the tiny bead of pre-cum to lubricate himself, pumping it slowly in front of me. Like some sort of peacock. Ignore the pun.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, daring him to take one second longer.

He chuckles and pulls down his boxers fully and kicking them off once they reach his ankles. He returns to my level on the floor. He hovers  over me. His legs are on either side of mine, he tilts my chin up and presses an impression of a kiss against my lips—so light I almost don’t feel it. Before he can pull away I run my tongue over his bottom lip, which manages to win me a lecherous smile. He brings his mouth back against mine and bites down on my lower lip. Fuck.

He snakes his hands around my throat once more and my body shudders in anticipation. His free hand reaches to pull the crotch of my underwear to the side.

His hand rests around my throat loosely.

“Condom?” He asks, voice drunk with lust.

“I’m on birth control. Also got tested before school started.”

Please just fuck me.

“Got tested last week. “ He grins.

A dangerous silence lingers in the air. His face is neutral as he waits for my approval. I nod, and in no time I can feel my ability to breathe removed from me.

His fingers line up with my slit and slowly trace back and forth along it, teasing me. I manage to groan slightly under the pressure of his hand. He removes his fingers from my dripping core and slowly places them into my open mouth.

I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I suck at his fingers, tasting myself. I could feel my saliva leaking out the sides of my mouth, but he did not seem to oppose.

I can feel him get slick against me. I can feel his erection against my thigh. He removes his fingers from my mouth and takes ahold of his throbbing cock and prods at me dangerously.

I bite at my lip—a move that almost always invited a reaction.

Harry’s face stills and he holds eye contact with me as he chokes me. He’s loving this. 

Slowly entering two digits inside me, he hisses.

He mutters something along the lines of: “Well now I’m excited.”

I realize I’ve been running my nails up and down his back. As I feel my head growing heavy with lack of oxygen, I tap his back and he releases me.

I’m gasping for air just as he adds a third finger. I can feel my eyes roll back.

His mouth is hot and everywhere and I can’t even keep still, I’m shaking under his grip. I can feel my stomach twisting in excited knots.

“I said…” I croak out. “Fuck. Me. You. Idiot.”

In one movement, Harry has mounted and entered me.

“Fuck.” I wince, surprised by his size. But as he begins to pump in and out of me I can feel myself growing used to it.

“Mmm…” He moans, bucking excitedly into me. He grabs my arms and pins them to my side, leaving me unable to touch him or scratch him further.“Yes…” He grunts into my neck.

He renders me useless as he thrusts into me roughly. I feel like I’m going to lose it.

“Hurt me.” I spit, much more confident in myself now.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I want it.”

“How bad?” His movements come to a slow and I pout in response. “Come on, tell me, Angel.”

Angel?

“Bad.” I clench around him, eliciting a delicious sigh.

My cheek stings and I let out a gasp of surprise. It takes me a moment to register his slap but I’m more than happy about it.

“Yes, yes, yes.” I whimper as he slams into me once more. I can feel my juices running down my thigh. I can feel his balls slapping repetitively against my flesh. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Please, please, pl—“

He hits me again on the same cheek and I wince in pain, but fuck, I love this.

His eyes are glazed over and his face is red from the amount of effort he’s putting into this. 

“I want you to really, really hurt me. Like just fucking hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze to mine.

“Safe word.” He pants.

“Um…” I’m too busy loving the feeling of him sliding in and out my pussy to think.

“Spring?” He suggests, mid-thrust. “Like, Spring Awakening?”

I shake my head no.

“Summer?”

It hits me like a bullet train.

In a flash I am across the room, panting, in near tears.

“Is that some kind of fucked up joke?” I choke out, the image of Summer fresh in my mind.

And with the image of Summer comes Niall.


	14. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A shadow past, a shadow past
> 
> Yearning, yearning
> 
> For the fool it called a home"

My own tears blur my vision. The feelings I had been managing during my break came back full throttle—that disgusting, nauseating heartbreak. The loss of my friendship, the loss of my self-control.

I lose contact with reality. My fingertips grow numb. Breathing begins to feel impossible. What was I doing?

It was amazing how all Harry had to do was mention Summer—the perfect, shining gold star, beautiful, once best friend, now girlfriend of Niall—and I was rendered useless.

I guess he hadn’t thought that by simply suggesting ‘Summer’ as a safe word, that I would be bawling in his bedroom butt naked.

My chest throbbed in the place a heart should be. You’d think after Niall had decided to excommunicate me that I could carry on with my life, enjoy sex with other people, maybe even not hate myself—guess I was wrong.

Jealousy is a vile thing. Jealousy is a disgusting, awful, terrible thing. All I wanted was for Niall to be here. I think I had been fooling myself all along, thinking I didn’t need him. I was 19 years old and I didn’t have a personality, I was merely an attachment of another person. Niall was my shield and sword throughout all of high school, and now without him I am nothing.

I remember the summer I tried to kill myself. But this, this was worse. I remembered thinking: Who was Becca without Niall? She was the little parasite that attached herself to him. That’s who she was. When she has no source for life, she shrivels. Becca is not a full human. Becca latches onto anything that will give her attention. Becca feeds off of people.

What I was doing just moments ago was a prime example of this. I didn’t like Harry. Sure, Harry was pretty, and nice, and talented, but the way I felt about Harry was nothing like how I felt about Niall.

Harry is a shiny distraction. Harry is easy pleasure.

Now that I knew he was sexually interested in me I felt satisfied—like I had a reason to get up in the morning.

Maybe the secret of our friendship was that Harry liked to solve people, and I liked to build mazes for him to navigate. Yeah. Maybe my head was an unsolvable maze. Here’s the plot twist: there’s nothing to actually find in this maze. I have no secrets, no depth.

I’m still crying.

I don’t have the ability to use my voice. So when Harry lifts me up and places me silently onto his bed I can’t even find the words to express how unwanted his touch is.

The image of myself curled up, naked and sobbing on Harry’s bed further humiliates me.

One minute I had been having violent sex, the next I was feeling like killing myself: the Becca Zhu autobiography.

Harry leaves me in his room by myself. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Where did he go?

I can’t even think about what must be going through his head right now. I had nothing else to lose anymore. What was the point of worrying about what he was thinking? Friendships were temporary. Weren’t they? Were we ever really friends? Was I just a rubix cube to him?

Did I have anything I wanted anymore? Did I care for anything anymore? Did I really have a reason to keep this up?

Becca the parasite.

Becca the worm.

Be—

“Angel.”

I realize I’ve stopped crying, but my eyes are skewed shut. I open them slowly and stare at Harry. My face feels swollen and stiff. He’s now dressed in a pair of pale blue boxers, but there’s nothing even remotely sexy about it anymore. It just doesn’t even matter. Harry was just a body.

I can feel myself draining.

He reaches his hand forward and I flinch. As if I were a wild animal, he tentatively brushes aside my bangs to reveal my face. We’re making eye contact but I don’t even feel like we’re on the same planet.

I turn my head, burying it into his grey cinnamon-smelling sheets.

I can still feel him hovering over me. I can still hear him breathing. I can feel the sting of where he bit me. I can feel the ache of where his hands were around my throat.

“Angel.” He says again, his voice rough and raspy.

I don’t budge. I could sink into these sheets.

He slowly winds his arms around me, lifting me with ease. I feel small and pathetic and parasitic. He’s carrying me somewhere and I can’t even open my eyes.

My body lurches with nausea with every step he takes.

He enters a new room, and I peak open my eyes. He lowers me slowly into a bath. The water is far too hot and I let out a tiny shriek in response.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He mutters, placing me down properly and turning on the cold water as fast as possible.

As the scalding feeling dulls I begin breathing normally once more. My heart rate slows back to normal. My limbs feel like my own again.

“Fuck.” My voice feels separate from my body. I still feel a bit disassociated.

I turn my head to look at Harry, whose eyebrows are furrowed deeply. He looks worried. His neck muscles are tight with stress, and he’s gnawing at his bottom lip endlessly.

“I’m so sorry.” I wheeze, turning my head to look back down at the water rippling around my legs. The industrial lighting of the bathroom makes my skin and the water look a gross yellow.

He leans down to my level then dips his finger into the water, testing the temperature.

“I promise you it’s okay.” He says as he turns the tap off.

His words startle me. I wish I could sink into the water. I wish I could immerse myself entirely.

“Is that so?” That’s my voice. Those words are mine.

“Not like that,” His defensive tone of voice would usually cause me anxiety, but I find myself merely blinking in response ”I mean, I promise you that whatever is happening right now stays between us. I’m here for you.”

The world feels more clear and manageable. Just a little bit. Harry’s presence feels like the hand that’s holding on tightly as I dangle off a cliff.

It slowly comes to my attention that he’s washing my back with a bar of soap. It’s surprisingly intimate and I’m unsure if I like it, but I don’t protest.

“Thank you.” I muster out. How could I possibly tell him that I didn’t care? I didn’t care what he was doing. I didn’t want anyone here. I didn’t want anyone. I didn’t want to have sex with him and I’m not even sure why I did it.

He grabs a washcloth from underneath the sink and returns to the position on his knees beside the tub. How is it that even under these ugly lights he has this oddly cherub-like disposition?

He slowly rinses off the soap, and my muscles relax. I let out a breathy sigh. I feel more present. I am here. I’m okay.

The pain that had swallowed me moments ago had loosened its grip. Summer was not my friend anymore and that was okay. Niall was not my friend anymore and I would learn to be okay with this. Niall was not in love with me and…I can’t be okay with this.

Maybe?

I sneak a look at Harry who is daydreaming as he rubs figure eights onto my back with the cloth. His hair is swept to the side. He looks disheveled and exhausted. My heart tugs with guilt. I was the irritating, unmanageable, parasitic worm Becca.

“Harry.”

His head snaps up to meet my gaze attentively.

“Hmm?”

I force my lips into a tiny smile. He mirrors me.

I can’t say it aloud but I am thankful. I am. I’m not sure of what yet, but I am.

The urge for attention comes back. The need to fill the oncoming void in my chest.

“Join me…?” It comes out so small I wonder if he hears it.

He holds still momentarily, considering my request. Did I just make an idiot of myself again? I needed comfort. I needed this.

I wonder how desperate I probably looked.

He then passes me the washcloth. As he begins to stand up he motions for me to scoot myself further down in the tub.

As I shuffle forward he clumsily settles himself down behind me, still dressed in his boxers. The water lifts to just below my breast as he takes a seat. It takes him a full minute to get comfortable, moving his legs around until they surround me. He’s too tall for the tub too. It’s endearing.

“Why do you even have a bathtub?” I laugh pathetically.

I can feel him shrug from behind me.

“I dunno. Each room came with one. I barely use it.” He speaks softly into my ear.

I grab his right hand that is hovering on the edge of the tub and move it so that it’s wrapped around me. He mimics this action with the other one.

He draws me closer until I can feel him flush against me. He’s still half hard and something about this sends a jolt of excitement through me.

Destructive, parasitic Becca.

“Harry, do you like me?” Those are my words. That’s my voice.

He lets out a reactionary ‘uh’ in response. His feet squeak noisily against the base of the tub.

“Well, yeah? What do you mean?” He laughs. “Like I don’t take baths with all my friends.”

He’s trying to be funny but I don’t respond. I find my thoughts stirring into motion.

He strains his head to the side so he can try to catch a glimpse of my expression.

“No, like…” I slide my hands up and down my legs. “Do you like me?”

The air grows still.

“Why?” He finally says, letting go of me. I can feel him try to make space between our bodies.

“Because I want to know.” I practically whisper.

“Well, like, I think you’re attractive. I mean, I don’t just have sex with ev—“

“No. Do you like me?” I turn my head over my shoulder, so that I can get a read on his face.

He’s gnawing at the inside of his cheek. Stupid Frog Prince.

“I mean…”

But he doesn’t finish his sentence. I turn my head away so that he no longer can make eye contact with me.

I test the waters. Pun intended.

I find his hand underwater and slowly drag it around me once more. He doesn’t object, instead he breathes quite heavily on the back of my neck, causing the little hairs to rise.

Please, please, please distract me.

I slowly slide his finger into my mouth and nip it.

I can feel him twitch against me and let out a hiss from between his teeth.

And with that, the parasite begins to leech the life out of her victim.

Because when I am sad I am a piece of shit and my actions do not matter.

I place my hand on top of his and intertwine my fingers with his. I dunk his hand underwater and guide it to my center.

Taking a hold of his fingers I rub them against myself.

I let out a soft mewl and I know for a fact Harry has stopped breathing, he just lets me take full control of him.

“Stop.” He finally says after allowing me to have my way with him for a few seconds.

I don’t stop.

“I’m not kidding.” He tries to pull his hand away, but I’m clutching so tightly as I rub circles. “Stop.”

And then he is gone and I find myself alone in his bathroom, an acrid taste in my mouth.

Parasitic Becca: Losing Everyone She Loves.

\---

To no one’s surprise I don’t answer my phone for two days. It’s tucked under my mattress, far from my reach.

It comes to my attention after a goodnight’s sleep that I had actually had sex with Harry. In some momentary lapse of judgment I had tried to fuck my friend. Not even a casual hookup either, I mean like full-blown BDSM.

Better yet, I tried to get him to fuck me again while mid-breakdown.

I wasn’t even sure how he felt about the situation, nor did I want to know. All I knew was that I was in pain and I wanted to replace it with any pleasure I could. I wanted to be happy. I would resort to anything.

I had decided that the best way to get through the rest of the year was pretend Harry didn’t exist and get this goddamn musical over with.

Oddly enough, the past few days I’ve been feeling so numb that I end up doing my schoolwork and not hating it. The only thing keeping me thriving is the idea of academic success: the one kind of approval that isn’t based on how shitty of a person I am.

I try to pay attention to things. I start to schedule in meals, and drink more water, and take my medication at a normal time. I take a wild leap and sign up for an appointment at the health center. Here goes nothing.

I even walk by Summer on the way to class and don’t just explode from awkwardness. She doesn’t notice me, but it surprisingly doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would when I see her face. Okay. Okay. Okay.

A hand slithers its way around my waist on my departure from the lecture hall.

“Jesus!” I shriek and nearly throw myself into a wall I’m so frightened.

“I prefer Louis, but thank you.” He smirks (if you look ‘smirk’ up in the dictionary you’ll find a picture of his face.)

“Can I help you?” I wheeze, fixing my jean jacket around myself.

“Just wanted to check in on my favourite gal.” His eyes sparkle with something vicious and primal.

‘Favourite gal’? Don’t you have a girlfriend, buddy?

I simply smile thin-lipped, unsure what to say. He wasn’t stupid, there’s no way he was ignoring the palpable tension.

“Did you miss me?” He says after a moment of examining my flushed expression.

The words grip me by the throat they’re so frightening. I can’t bring myself to say anything. I simply stare at him. The tiny amount of scruff he was growing in really suited him. It was so terrifying to think that even people you want to like, even good looking, funny, charming people, could be fucked up morally.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles, digging his hands into his jean jacket and withdrawing his cigarette pack.

I just nod. My body is screaming at me to make up an excuse and move, but I’m finding myself unable to do anything.

“Becks?” His use of my intimate nickname shocks me into action.

“Yeah?” I squeak, I can feel my fingers twitching nervously and my heart beat in my throat.

“How’s the musical?” If he thinks I can’t sense the venom of this phrase he is very goddamn wrong.

“Good.” I muster, pulling at the ends of my hair. If I keep this up I’ll probably go bald. “Fun.”

“Would have been more fun with me, hey?”

Are you serious? Is this real?

I glance around, trying to make eye contact with anyone in the general vicinity. I make eyes with Harry, who takes note of my company.

Please save me, Jesus Christ, I’ll li—

He turns himself away and I think a part of me I didn’t know I had just collapses.

Louis notices my discomfort and edges himself a bit closer to me.

“Listen, Becks,” His voice lowers dramatically. “I was wondering if you could get Katie to get in contact with me. We have some things to discuss.”

I open my mouth with a silent ‘ah’, and nod complacently, but I have neither intention nor do I even dream of fulfilling his little task.

“I mean…” He makes a face like he’s thinking,” I heard she’s been spreading some bullshit about me and that’s just…not cool, you know?”

I stiffen, unsure what to say.

“She got me kicked out of the musical, for fuck’s sake.” He says this with a cigarette between his lips, lighting it lazily.

If I had the strength right now I would slap him. Perhaps he thought he could just lie his way into making me confused. Go fuck yourself, Tomlinson.

I remember in ninth grade this girl was assaulted at a party, and no one believed her (me included). It struck me years later how rape culture caused young women to suffer—how important it was to support girls.

“Hey, fuck off, will you?”

The words are not my own. I swivel my head to the side to catch sight of Zayn, who exhales a cloud of smoke, his expression stone cold. My heart nearly flutters out of my chest. I want to squeeze him silly I’m so thankful.

Louis’ smile widens, he throws a wink at Zayn before tossing his newly lit cigarette on the ground.

And with that, he’s gone.

I realize my eyes are watering as I turn back to Zayn. I’m speechless.

“Hey,” His eyes soften, and his shoulders relax. “How are you?”

I nearly burst into tears. When was the last time someone asked me how I was?

“I’m…not great. But I’m actually trying. I’m tired of feeling like shit, you know?” I can’t bring myself to break eye contact with him, this is the calmest I’ve felt in awhile.

He nods, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

“We should chill,” He begins, and I nod, “and like…talk.”

I know he means about Harry. But honestly, Katie wouldn’t talk shit about Harry if her mouth was full of it. However, Zayn would tell the truth. It’d be nice to get some perspective on him.

I feel my cheeks burn with the idea of Zayn knowing what we got up to a few days ago. I hope Harry spared some details.

“Hey Becca,” He mumbles (per usual), “You’re really cool.”

I let out a laugh, “Really now?”

“Seriously. Me, Liam, Katie, Harry, the lads from Spring Awakening…we all think you’re great.”

My knees grow weak.  
“You’re really talented.”

My heart leaps.

“And you’re a really good person.”

I swallow harshly. I might vomit.

“I’m glad I met you, yeah?”

I realize I’m crying.

I smile at him, because I can’t even say ‘thank you’. I can’t even find the right words to tell him how much I truly needed this.

My face screws up and like a broken faucet my eyes begin to let out a waterfall of tears. You’d think I’d be all cried out from the year I’ve had.

He drops his cigarette and awkwardly wraps his arms around me. It’s stiff and weird, but his attempt at comfort is the nicest thing I’ve had in a long time. He lightly runs his hands over the back of my head and my greasy hair. I probably smell like shit too.

My face is flush against his leather jacket and one of the zippers is digging into my face but I don’t even care.

After what feels like a few minutes, we both pull away, silently taking each other in.

He throws me a smile, in which I return.

“See you later.” I let out, voice hoarse.

He nods, before sending a small wave my way, and heading back to God knows where.

I stand alone for a second. What a sight: Becca the parasite trying to make due on her own.

I turn my head to the direction of my dormitory.  
I make a second worth of eye contact with Mr.Styles.

I couldn’t read his face even if I tried.

\---

I wake up with a start. It’s one of those experiences where it feels like someone dropped you from the ceiling and you crash-landed into your bed.

Incoherent noises come out of my mouth as my eyes split open. The lights of the room are still on and my roommate is taking off her coat as she enters the room.

I roll myself off the bed, and dig my hand under my mattress to retrieve my phone.

After a few minutes of charging and clearing the fog from my head, I receive seven text messages. Impressively little considering I haven’t turned on my phone in nearly three days.

_‘becca, please answer, youre scaring me’ – frog_

What?

_‘look I know things are weird but please just come and get this over with and we’ll grab a pint and talk it out.’ - frog_

Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

_‘where r u’ – zaynathew_

Shit.

_‘youre late. Expect an extra rehearsal tomorrow night’ – unknown number_

I assumed that was Liam.

_‘you sounded really good during your solo practice in class today. How are you?’ – frog_

That one was probably from a few days ago.

_‘can we talk?’ – summerface_

_‘niall and I broke up. I miss you. Im so sorry.’ – summerface_

It feels like a hole opened up in the middle of my floor and swallowed me.


	15. Totally Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a moment you know you’re fucked, not an inch more room to self destruct.”

“Hi.”

To say he sounded unhappy would be an understatement.

“Hi,” I mimic, pacing my room wildly, ignoring the gaze of my permanently pissed roommate. “Hey, listen, I’m so, so, sorry.”

He sighs loudly into the phone, causing me to pull it away from my ear in order to avoid any internal damage.

“Becca…” I can hear Liam shaking his head in disappointment.

“Yeah?” I wince, taking a seat onto my bed, only to stand right up again and pace once more. I find myself fiddling with the ends of my greasy hair.

“You need to get your shit together.” His scolding tone immediately resonates badly with me. Male authority always had that effect on me. It makes my skin crawl. “Like…Now. We have two and a half months left, Becca. One month for the rest of the choreography which we are very far behind on, and another to get dress rehear—“

I can feel the bubbling anxiety returning, the one that I had just managed to suppress for almost a week. “I know, I know! It’s just—“

“Don’t interrupt me,” He snaps, and my aimless wandering comes to a halt. I try to squeak out some sort of an apology but the amount of shame I’m harboring makes it impossible. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I say after a moment. “Yeah.”

“Extra rehearsal tomorrow. I don’t care if you’re buried in work. We’re doing one-on-one.”

I almost spit out a ‘yes Dad’, but he hangs up before I can even get a word out of my mouth.

At lightening speed I begin to shoot off texts.

To: zaynathew

‘hihihihi im sorry!! coffee/blaze/chill soon??’

To: frog

‘sorry about today. I wasn’t ignoring you. see you at next rehearsal.’

I frown at the detachment evident in my last text. It was nice to know that he did give a shit about me, though. I mean, I know he does. Of course he does. Harry would kill a bull for any of his friends. But it was nice to know I was considered one of them. It was nice to let that settle in.

I realize I’m zoning out in my roommate’s general vicinity and she is shooting me the dirtiest stinkface known to man.

“Sorry.” I mumble, turning my gaze back to my phone.

Then it hits me. Like really, truly, completely hits me.

Niall is single. Niall is SINGLE. S-I-N-G-L-E.

I get full body goose bumps at the thought of it. I have wanted this for months and here it was. Shaking, I try to find the means to text something back to Summer—an apology, a signal that I am alive, or maybe…

I pull open my text conversation with Niall. The last time we had spoken was when he asked me if I needed a ride back from our hometown. What do I even say? Did he even want to hear from me? Maybe the last thing he wanted was the girl who’s in love with him to come swooping in to catch his tears. Or…Or maybe I could suggest what he had suggested in grade 10: a snog for laughs? Or maybe he’d be in such a delicate state that he’d sleep with me…

My own thoughts disgust me, but it doesn’t stop the incessant beating of the cuckoo bird that’s replaced my heart.

The familiar metallic taste of blood leaks into my mouth and I realize I’ve been biting my lip for something close to a full minute.

I send out a final text before putting on my worn out oxfords, throwing caution to the wind, and entering the chilly night air coatless. Here’s hoping I get a response.

—

“Shh, shh, shh,” Katie croons, arms wrapped tightly around me. I had word vomited on her for the past ten minutes or so, explaining my situation at an unimaginable speed, and consequently crying all over myself.

When she lets go, she’s smiling ear to ear. I note the mini-joint tucked behind her industrial piercing and I can’t help but laugh. “What!? I came prepared!”

We settle ourselves crisscross applesauce in the middle of the relatively empty quad. People smoked up here all the time and so much as you didn’t disturb anyone and weren’t too obvious, security didn’t give two shits.

Katie pulls her hair back into an untidy knot and I find myself staring. In so many ways Katie reminds me of myself, you know, were I able to handle things well. Katie is the version of myself that is well put together, is visually beautiful, is funny, well liked, talented—

She begins to play with the fraying edge of my jeans and I find my thoughts coming to a halt. I try to stop the bullshit I’m feeding myself. I try to remember what I discussed at my last appointment, but the more I smoke the less I can remember what I was upset about in the first place.

“You’ve been nothing but a good friend. Thank you.”

She’s crying, and I find myself at a loss for words. Me? A good friend? It’s a funny image—the two of us crying in the dark, high, in the quad.

“What are you even saying?” I chuckle awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. She wipes at the makeup dribbling down her face, and stares ashamedly at the grass beneath us. “You’re so cool and great, Katie.”

She laughs, a little bit of snot leaking out of her nose, which only makes her laugh harder, “Now you’re just lying. But yeah, seriously, I was considering dropping out when this year began. Honestly, you’ve made it more bearable. “

“Liam seems to think differently,” I grumble, ripping a tuft of grass out from the earth and scattering it lazily over my shoes.

“Fuck Liam, he’s so tied up in this musical he’s forgotten to be a person. He’s such a fucking Dad sometimes,” Katie shuffles her body around, still sniffing, and lays her head sideways in my lap like a tiny, curled up kitten.

“Yeah,” I nod, my mind wandering (as it does when you’re high as fuck).

I watch Katie close her eyes and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her head. I wonder if she sees Louis on the inside of her eyelids, if it haunts her, if that party cycles itself endlessly in her dreams. My stomach lurches as my trip suddenly takes a dark turn.

“Are you anxious?” She whispers into my thigh. I don’t answer, or rather; I can’t find a way to, “You’re shaking.”

She pulls herself out of my lap and rubs my left arm as a soothing tactic.

“Katie. Why did you want to leave?”

“Well, the Louis thing obviously. But at the time I had El as a friend so it was kind of okay. Um, also, I just wasn’t sure if it was worth studying piano anymore. Like what fucking jobs can you get? Like, maybe I’ll play at some shitty movie theatre out near the concession.”

“But you shouldn’t stay because of people.”

“Yeah. I know. But honestly Harry is my fucking rock.”

I nod, and strangely enough, resonate with her comment more than I thought I could. Harry is irritating, whiny, strange and goddamn smug, but I could never find myself calling him a bad friend.

“I know, you know?” She’s turned the rubs into light scratches across my skin, arousing goosebumps in her wake.

I quirk an eyebrow at her, brushing off her hand lightly, the ticklish feeling a tad too unpleasant for my liking, “Sorry, what?”

“About you and Harry.” She stares at me curiously, trying to gage my reaction. Frankly, I have no idea how my face looks at this very moment. My mind remains blank.

“Oh,” I inhale, now trying to read her expression right back. “I really, really hope you don’t think I’m friends with you because I was trying to get with H—“

“NO!” She yelps a little too loudly, jumping a little at the sound of her own voice. “ What are we, in a bad movie? I don’t! I don’t! I wasn’t even surprised to be honest. But you should’ve seen him at rehearsal tonight, he kept smoking Zayn’s pack like he was breathing air.”

I wince, exhaling my nerves. God bless Katie, she was so great. I am so thankful that she’s a sensible human, unlike myself.

“I’m kind of happy for you two, actually. Harry needs to stop sleeping with his ex-girlfriend anyways. It’s unhealthy if you ask me, but I guess I can’t say since I’ve never done it mys—“

“Wait…”

She stills, and her eyes widen, “Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. You didn’t know, did you? Oh, SHIT. Harry is going to fucking killllllll me.” She smacks her own face repeatedly, then flops over, her hair curtaining over her face as she tries to seemingly melt into the ground.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Is it okay, though? I try to register my own thoughts, but I’m too high to truly let it sink in. I feel suspended in this bizarre state in the middle of dreams and reality.

“Just…don’t say anything to him. Or I’ll slap you silly. But I’m pretty sure he still loves her.”

The floodgates of reality burst open and drown me. What the hell is happening? Katie is too high and stuck in her own thoughts to notice that I’m clenching my jaw like I’m trying to keep something locked inside my mouth.

“Shit, that sucks,” Is all I manage, because Becca is the Queen of Words.

“Yup. She’s not like a bad person or anything, I just don’t think it makes sense for it to continue if she’s not going to just take him back or something. I dunno, I dunno…” She shrugs her shoulders more than enough times, then tunes out and gazes out at the security guard circling our area of the quad. She gives him a small wave and smile. “Do you wanna sleepover?”

“Sure.”

A little part of me knows that I was sleeping over so I might get a chance to see him. It had been a few days, so, this was normal. Yup.

—  
I wake up feeling light and fresh—something I hadn’t felt in ages. Katie’s morning breath tickles my face and it is everything but pleasant. I reject the concept of breathing for a moment as I roll over and examine the room. Katie had forgotten to close her curtains and the sunlight spills across the room like a cracked egg, romanticizing her messy space. Or maybe I was. Maybe I was in a good mood, waking up on the right side of the bed and such.

I flop the upper half of my body over the bed so I can fetch my medication from my purse. The pills drag there way down my dry throat and I try not to gag. When I’ve finished swallowing I allow myself to take in the stillness of the moment. Something I haven’t done in forever. It’s hard for me to slow down when it feels like the world is circling around me.

It must be the residual effects of the weed or a good cry, because I was inexplicably happy. The strangest realization that I’m alive strikes me. To think that I had almost survived the year, when not too long ago I was sitting in my Ma’s basement googling ‘painless suicides’. Almost a year.

I manage to wobble my way to the bathroom to take care of my morning necessities.

I nearly tumble my way down the stairs and into the kitchen (probably because I was too busy staring hopelessly at Harry’s door and not at the steps in front of me). I catch up with my footing with great finesse and decidedly peek into the fridge. Was I allowed to even do this? Fuck it. I’ll do it.

—

“Mawwy meh?” Katie sighs, mouth shoved full of omelet. With lazy open-mouth chews, she stares happily into space, “I’m so in love with you it hurts me.”

Sophia and Liam grunt in approval, still sipping at their coffees. I can’t help but grin as I admire my handy work. I feel oddly hospitable. Today was okay. Today was shaping up okay.

“Don’t think that this makes last night any better, okay? Plus you owe me a new carton of eggs.” Liam grumbles into his mug. His comment is followed up by a light shove from Sophia. She leans over and mutters something into his ear, and his entire body stiffens.

I scan the table to see that Katie is staring intently at the two, some sort of threat dancing at the tip of her tongue.

It’s funny how something so tiny can tear apart your day in a matter of seconds. I try to channel the emotionless part of myself, the part that could cut out my feelings when things became too much. Something about my new meds was starting to make this impossible, instead of being detached I felt exceptionally vulnerable.

My anxiety bubbles. Was I intruding? Did I fuck up? I feel nauseous. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and unsure of my body, my own skin making me want to gag.

“Oh!”

The entire tables’ attention is brought to the loud entrance of the Frog King. He’s wearing a pair of grey boxer briefs that leave very little to the imagination. Except, not like I needed to imagine, I mean, I had seen it in person, so…Shut up Becca.

My anxiety is momentarily suffocated by the sight of him. I wonder if other people also felt that way about him? Did he know he could simply walk into a room and make people feel calm? Fuck him for having that magnetic power.

I’m suddenly cocooned in the heady scent of cinnamon and I find my breathing cut short. The ends of his hair tickle my cheek and he’s so warm my entire body is sent into shock. I’m pretty sure I even let out a squeak. I turn my gaze to Liam and Sophia who are too busy having a quiet whisper-argument to even notice the strange occurrence beside them.

When he pulls back I get the sense that he’s nervous, maybe even regretful that he chose to hug me. Right. He thinks I’ve been ignoring him. Which is the right assumption since I was. Or am.

“Do you wanna hang out today?” He mumbles, a smile begging to begin on his lips. I feel my face heat up, so I turn my attention back to the table in front of me before he can spot my weakness. It’s simpler if he thinks I’m unattached from the embarrassing situation that occurred the other day. You know, the one where I forced myself on him mid-breakdown. Even the thought of it is awful.

“I made you an omelets by the way,” I hand him his plate, avoiding eye contact. Good one, Becca. Smooth as butter. “I suggest warming it up in the microwave or something because I think it’s a bit cold now.”

I sound like fucking Betty Crocker.

“Do you want to?” He repeats, taking a seat between Sophia and Katie on the other side of the table. He ignores my request and starts to pick at his cold meal complacently. Those tiny buds of moss are drilling holes into me and I hate it. “And thank you!”

I give him a half-smile and it’s returned with a massive, dimpled grin from him.

“Jesus, Sunshine. Calm down,” Katie snorts, picking at the last of her potatos. “You trying to burn the house down with that gaze of desire?”

I nearly choke, my eyes whipping over to a smirking Katie. She’s too busy plaiting her hair to even give me the time of day. I then regretfully turn to observe Harry who is happily picking away at his eggs as if nothing has happened.

I said this day would be good, but honestly it’s shaping up to be bizarre.

“I have therapy in a few hours, but maybe after? I still have a bit of homework to do.” I struggle to make my self sound unexcited or uninterested. I kind of missed him, and am looking forward to having things going back to normal. Whatever normal was between the two of us.

“Sounds good.” He looks extremely pleased with my response—I can tell because those two tiny deformities rest on either ends of his smile. I should name those goddamn things; they’re practically my friends. “You look healthy.”

“Thank…you?”

I catch Katie turning her head away from Harry and rolling her eyes at his awkwardness.

“Like good healthy. Like, pretty, and glow-y, you know?”

I nod slowly; trying not to let Liam’s snort upset me.

“Welp. I should head out. I hope you don’t mind if I leave the dishes to you guys? Sorry ‘bout that. Thanks again, Katie!” All these words spill out of my mouth as I nearly race across the hall. I barely even get my shoes on properly before I’m out the door and heading back to my dorm.


	16. The Word of Your Body (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Travel the world within my lips, fondle the pearl of your distant dreams” - The Word of Your Body (Reprise), Spring Awakening

It takes me something close to six drawn out blinks in order to adjust to the light. I could never explain to you what brought my therapist to have such dim lighting in her office. Every time I exit the building to the outdoors I’m in semi-shell shock and tend to not be able to walk for a good minute.

Despite my lack of eyesight, I find myself still in a rather complacent mood. My hour long feeling purge helped my morning anxiety simmer down. Usually I felt impatient after a therapy appointment, as if my issues weren’t fixed fast enough, but today I actually noticed a difference. Huh.

I try to soak up my even headspace for as long as possible and decidedly head to the park benches outside of her Music History lecture hall.

I flop myself onto my back and spread out across the bench, trying to clear my mind of any negativity. This kind of peacefulness only struck once in a blue moon. It was nice enough outside. Summer coming up and all made things easier.

I pat at my pockets, and blindly dig my hand into my purse, but I can’t find my phone. I either left it at Katie’s or back in my dorm the other night. I feel the slight flurry of anxiousness arise, but I inhale and exhale deeply until it subsides. I’ll get it later. It’s not like Niall texted me.

I try to push aside that inner voice that constantly repeats things like ‘What about Summer? What if she texted you? What about your homework? What about Niall? Why is Harry even friends with you? Who the hell gets a career out of singing?’

Shut up, Becca.

I let out a long ‘hiss’, trying to focus on the sound of my breath and the smell of hot gravel instead of the sound of my brain fucking me over.

“HEY!” My body undulates in shock and I nearly roll off the bench. I sit up, squinting while I readjust my glasses.

“Oh, shit, I totally forgot.” I mumble to myself more than him.

His hair swishes around like we’re in some ridiculous teen movie. He’s coated in sweat (in fact I’ve never seen him so stressed in my life now that I can see his expression) and panting. His eyebrows are furrowed and his loosely fitted floral button-up is nearly falling off of him.

“Are you okay?” This day has been all kinds of weird. “Seriously, what’s up?

“We’re supposed to chill!” A tiny speckle of his spit hits me in the cheek, and he immediately flushes in embarrassment.

“Uh…” I wipe away the little Harry residue, and turn to him, “I know…I was planning on swinging by later, though. I left my phone at your house, I think.”

I can tell by the way he’s pinching his lips together that he’s thinking a mile per minute, “Yeah, I know, but I caught wind of a really cool band playing in town.”

“In town?” ‘Town’ meant an hour and a half bus ride. Going to town meant a long wait if you wanted to do anything cool.

“Yeah, and I really, really wanna go.” He huffs, fanning himself with his own shirt. I catch a wave of cinnamon. He observes me, trying to collect what I may be thinking. “Zayn said they’re amazing and they rarely come to town so this is like a once in a lifetime th—“

“—What’re they called?”

He blinks, looking at the ground as if the answer were there.

After a moment of silence, I decide to speak up, “Harry…I can’t. I have a lot of homework…and Liam wants m—“

“Fuck Liam. Let’s do something crazy,” I almost laugh when these words leave his lips. They sounded like they came from somebody else’s body.

“Uh…I mean, I guess, I can do some of the work on the bus ride? But you have to promise to be quiet.”

He plants a sloppy kiss on my forehead, leaving a searing hotness in it’s wake.

—

We sit for twenty minutes in silence while I re-read the same line from my Music history textbook over and over again. For some reason I thought I would be able to concentrate on my work with Harry beside me, clearly I was mistaken.

My head is pulsing, and I feel like my nose is on fire just from the general proximity to his cinnamon doused self. How is this even fair?

He’s staring out the window, headphones in and texting off and on, but every once in awhile I just get this feeling he’s peeking at me through the reflection. It’s not even a feeling actually, I can just spot it out of the corner of my eye, but I choose not to acknowledge it.

It isn’t until some kid starts wailing a couple of seats back that I give up entirely, shutting my textbook with a bit too much force. Harry almost immediately picks up on this and turns himself to me.

“Hi,” He grunts hoarsely.

“Hey,” I grunt back, bringing my lips into a thin line. He scans my expression, seemingly trying to decide what to say next.

“I just wanted to be honest with you, because I think you deserve that.”

I quirk an eyebrow, tucking my textbook back into my knapsack, “What’s up?”

“You know about the other day?”

He doesn’t need to say anymore because I know exactly what day he’s referring to. I nod, and after a deep inhale and exhale, he continues.

“In the bathtub…” He begins, and I can feel my face redden and my heart begin to double-time, “I just think…that that wasn’t cool.”

“What wasn’t cool?” My stomach lurches in discomfort.

“To take advantage of me…” He mutters, gnawing at his lip. “I said ‘no’, and you continue—“

“—I realize that but I also was not really in my ri—“

“—I want an apology Becca.”

The way he says my name silences me. His eyes don’t leave mine and my mouth fumbles to move, and my brain is too enflamed with embarrassment to think.

“Please,” He reiterates. He’s serious. Dead serious. “Consent, Becca. Please don’t do that to me, again.”

Humiliation is the only word for this. I felt like such a hypocrite at this very moment. Maybe I was just as awful as Louis—running around doing things without asking. Maybe I was just as awful as him because I couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

I wish I could turn this bus around and go home.

I try to choke out an apology but nothing comes out. I turn my gaze to the floor where my knapsack sits.

The rest of the bus ride was spent in uncomfortable silence.

The rest of the bus ride was one of the first forty-five minutes of my life.

The minute my feet hit solid ground I felt Harry grab my arm and drag me a few feet ahead of the crowd.

“Becca, please. Let’s make this evening good,” I can’t even bring myself to look him in the face I’m so haunted by my inability to say sorry. The way he says my name is so curt and distant it worsens the blow.

“I fucked up so bad. I wasn’t in my right mind and the whole thing was a bad idea, I think I thought sex would help fill the void and you were the closest thing in my proximit—“ I cut my own tangent off as I take in Harry’s face—he’s frowning, but silent.

I inhale so deeply I can hear it, “What I basically mean is I’m so fucking sorry and none of this shit will ever happen again. Let’s not mess around with our friendship.”

There. I said it.

He nods, chewing at his bottom lip. Even though I had done exactly what he wanted, he still didn’t look satisfied.

He turns himself towards the direction of where I presume the bar is, and we walk together, now in a much more comfortable stillness.

—

I have to hold back my vomit when the bar door opens. I’m immediately embraced by a strong woman, who by no mistake, is Summer.   
My ribcage nearly collapses from being so surprised and held so tight.

She pulls away from me, green eyes gleaming behind a ring of mascara and eyeliner. She looks like she’s gained some weight from the last time I saw her, but of course, she looks dressed to the nines—green shirt cut into loose fringes to reveal her bellybutton piercing, tight blonde ringlets, and a pair of bright green converse peaking out from under her bellbottom styled jeans.

“Happy Birthday, Becks!”

Oh God.

A loud cheer catches my attention, and I peak behind Summer. At a table, amongst beer bottles, gift bags, and shot glasses, sits Zayn, Perrie, Liam, Sophia, and Katie —all of who are waving excitedly at me to come over.

I throw a look back at Harry, who’s staring intently at my facial expression, trying to read it like a Rorschach test.

Here’s a small list you should know about me:

1) I was not exactly happy to be seeing Summer  
2) My head was still throbbing from the conversation with Harry and I was not in a great mood  
3) I hate surprises  
4) I hate birthdays

I do the first thing I think of: run to the bathroom and try not to throw up on the way there.

Harry immediately chases after me as I search wildly for the nearest ‘Washrooms’ sign.

“Hey, hey!” He grabs my wrist a little too forcefully; catching on quick, he pulls me to the side hallway to where the bathrooms are.

He throws me into the comforts of his arms, smothering me in the familiar cinnamon. My glasses crush into the bridge of my nose which causes me to let out a whimper of discomfort. I nearly hyperventilate I’m so overwhelmed.

I wrench my head away from his shirt, where I’ve left a small blotch of drool. I’m also crying. Big surprise. Crybaby and Asshole. That’s me.

“Are you okay?” He stutters, loosening his grip only slightly so I can breathe.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Fuck,” I sound absolutely not fine. My voice cracks halfway through the sentence and I can taste my own tears in my mouth.

“Are you having a panic attack?” He asks bluntly, his hardened eyes blurring under the filter of my tears.

“No, I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I don’t think I wanted this. It’s not even my bi—“

“It’s tomorrow, I know. But that’s like three hours from now…” He swallows, and I can feel his Adam’s apple bob against the top of my head. Were it any other moment I would be laughing at the sensation. “I’m sorry, I really thought you would like this.”

“I hate birthdays,” I whimper into his shirt. One of his big hands rise to smooth my hair down, “Especially my own.”

“Why?”

“Because…” My heart starts to reach normal pace again, allowing him to release me so that I can stand on my own. “How do I celebrate my own existence when I hate being alive?”

Harry blinks.

I laugh darkly, “It sounds stupid. And dramatic. And dumb. I know.”

“No. It doesn’t. I’m sorry. I thought you were doing better.” He grumbles guiltily, puckering his lips in distaste. He looks like a kid caught stealing candy.

“I am doing better, but I still hate birthdays,” I sigh, removing my glasses so I can clean them on the material of my cardigan.

He chuckles, shaking his head so that a few ringlets fall out of his loose bun. It’s majestical as fuck and I hate it almost as much as I hate birthdays.

“Will you try to let me make you like birthdays?” He suggests weakly, reaching forward to rub off what I imagine is a smudge of mascara on my face.

“No.” I grunt.

“What if we pretend it’s not your birthday?”

I roll my eyes.

“What if you don’t have a good time tonight I’ll write your Music History essay for you…?” A small smile daring to warp onto his pink lips.

“For serious?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck it. Start me with a shot of Pornstar. On you.”

“Well, yeah, it’s your birthday, Princess.”


	17. Whispering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listening  
> To the souls in the fools’ night  
> Fumbling mutely with their rude hands  
> And there’s heartache without end” - Whispering, Spring Awakening

My mouth tastes like Sour Puss and cigarettes.

We have reached the point of drunkenness where we are all yelling over the sounds of The 1975 that’s buzzing loudly from the bar speakers. I regret wearing my glasses as they continuously slide down my face from all the sweat that’s pouring out of me. My vision has gone to drunken shit anyways so fuck it.

After a few shots (which due to lack of food went straight to my head) everyone starts revealing the gifts they had gotten me–a fancy pack of clove cigarettes from Zayn, one of those weird Spice Girls chokers from Perrie, a mini-coffee machine from Katie, and a music store gift card from Liam and Sophia. Harry bought me a beautiful Sharon Van Etten shirt that I am already looking forward to wearing, while Summer bought me a gin and tonic. Yup. No comment.

I hadn’t eaten since this morning so it only takes one shot for me to start misbehaving. I’m onto my second gin and tonic when a majority of us decide to go for a smoke, only leaving Harry, Summer, and Perrie inside.

Once we reach the balcony Katie gives me a small tug on the hand, indicating we should separate and talk quietly from the rest.

“Who invited Malibu Barbie?” She grunts as she digs through her purse for her lighter, cigarette dangling loosely from her lips. She’s gone above and beyond with a deep purple lipstick and a ferocious cat eye look. She looks better than me on my own birthday.

“Summer? She was a good friend of mine. I dunno, she’s allowed to come.” I give a small shrug.

“No, I remember you two being friends, and she’s not like rude or anything, I just didn’t think she’d want to show up to an event that’s mostly cast and crew?” I know that even though Katie is trying to be nice about the whole thing, that really these aren’t her true thoughts. In fact, she’s probably thinking the same things I am:  _what makes Summer think she can just prance back into my life? Since when was she still interested in what I was up to? Also, why the fuck did Harry invite her?_

My thoughts are brought to a quiet hum as Liam walks over, passing me another shot of Pornstar. He mutters a quick ‘Happy Birthday’ and turns back to the rest of the group. Typical.

I finish off my gin and tonic as Katie hands me her cigarette, “Be right back, just gonna grab myself a shot too.”

It feels like only a few drunken seconds and Katie is beside me again, her plum lips split into a cheery smile, a tequila shot wobbling between her fingers.

It stings its way down my throat and manages to distract me from the nagging anxiety of Summer’s presence, and the nagging anxiety this surprise party is causing me. I’m still wincing as Katie rests her head on my shoulder and lights up two cigarettes in her mouth at once–one for both of us.

She hands it to me, exhaling a massive cloud of smoke. We fall quiet and listen in to the rowdy, drunken talk of our neighbouring friends. Zayn is howling with laughter, face contorted in delight at whatever joke Sophia had just told. I turn my eyes back to Katie to see that she is also staring at me. Her eyes are so intense with her makeup like that.

“It’s 11:59.” She tells me, as if I’m supposed to be happy.

“Should I make a wish or something?” I mutter, turning my face away from hers so I can exhale.

“I don’t think so.” She giggles, and my heart flutters.

**Oh.**

“It’s not like New Years right? No kissing?” I avoid her eyes, but the flirtatious nature of my words sink in after I say them. My face feels hot.

“It’s good luck, why not?”

I exhale again, lowering my hand with the cigarette in it.

At this moment in time it seems right.

There is no hesitation between the two of us as our lips meet. It’s easy and comfortable. I taste musk and tequila and it’s exhilarating. My body feels numb and wobbly except for the heat of her mouth massaging mine. I’m not even sure how long we’ve been here. Her fingers are lightly drawing shapes on my bare arms and I’m completely hypnotized by her.  **Her. Her. Her.**

Our friends’ conversation falls quiet and I have a feeling they’ve noticed us. It snaps me out of it.

We both pull back slowly, and she stares at me curiously, trying to figure out what I’m thinking, ignoring Sophia and Liam’s quiet bickering.

What  _am_  I thinking?

Finally, I break eyes with her and look over at Liam, Sophia and Zayn, who are now making their way back inside, leaving the two of us alone.

“Becca, I think we both know th-”

The patio door swings open and I am greeted by a sniffling, drunk Summer, who’s wiggling out of Harry’s grip. His wild hair is stuck to his face with sweat and he looks absolutely distraught. I can’t help but notice that Katie takes one massive (guilty?) step away from me.

Summer finally manages to escape Harry’s grasp with one defiant yank of her arm. She wobbles into my arms, the smell of her sweat, boozy breath, and perfume smash into me. Katie catches my eyes from over Summer’s shoulder, I imagine our looks of confusion are identical. My eyes dart back to the door to catch sight of Harry’s expression, but he is gone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Summer mumbles, pressing hot pink coloured kisses onto my face. I flinch in reaction to her every move, “Happy birthday, I need to go.”

Just as fast as she came in, she darts out, leaving Katie and I in a stunned silence. Katie turns herself back towards me, perfectly drawn eyebrows quirked upwards.

“Sorry, what were you sayin-”

Whatever conversation was going to happen between Katie and I was going to have to be saved for later as once again we were interrupted. Summer’s voice rings out in what sounds like banshee shrieks from indoors.

Katie lets out a dramatic, drawn out sigh, smushing her cigarette against the side of a patio chair and grabbing my hand, leading me back indoors. I even hear an “I swear to fucking God…” fumble out of her mouth. I’m thankful for her hand to guide my drunken footing indoors. It feels like my body is numb, save for her tiny hand folded with mine.

And of course, a birthday wouldn’t be a real birthday unless it is horrible. I assure you, this is horrible.

“Hey Becks.”

Let me set the scene:

Thank God for the music or else the whole place would have their eyes on us. Then again, crying drunk girls are probably a normal occurrence in this bar.

Stage right we can see a sobbing Summer who Harry is gently trying to console. He’s massaging her back with one of his big hands.

Stage left we see Zayn, Perrie, Liam, and Sophia muttering wildly about the scene at hand. Excellent. The jury have arrived.

Center stage we have Becca and Katie holding hands while across from them stands Niall.

Stupid, adorable, Irish, Niall.

Fuck it all.

“‘Sup?” Awesome Becca, awesome. Casual but cool all at once. Ugh.

“Let’s talk outside, yeah?”

I look over at Katie, who begrudgingly releases my hand and gestures coldly to the patio door.

The few steps back outside feel like the most difficult thing I’ve done all year. I imagine if I wasn’t drunk I’d be shitting myself. What was this going to be about? Why now?

“Why are you here?”

“I made you this.”

He hands me over a CD case that in his messy handwriting reads: “Horan/Zhu 2k15”. I can’t decide whether to set it aflame or listen to it for 18 hours straight. Our hand brush gently as I take it from him and I feel like I’ve taken another shot.

“Seriously. Why did you come?”

He laughs-the usual one. The one that ruins me.

“Because I missed you?”

“Because now that Summer is gone you’re feeling lonely?”

“That’s not tr-”

“-Do you think I’m an idiot or something?”

He stutters wildly, eyes flicking across my face (probably coated in sweat and worn off makeup).

“No, Becca. You’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much.”

Now it’s my turn to stutter.

“I’m so sorry.”

The words are music to my ears. I feel a weight lift off of me and my head clears.

“Now I’m going to go before Summer has another conniption.”

I simply nod. This evening was a hot mess.

He embraces me and I freeze at the unexpected touch.

“I’m really sorry about everything: being a shitty friend…you know, just…I’m sorry you’re in love with me.”

And it clicks.

Five years and just like that, it ends.

He lets go of me and for the first time ever I don’t want to be back in his arms.

I decide I’m going to get blackout smashed.

Happy Birthday, Becca.


	18. Those You've Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The stars, too, they tell of spring returning
> 
> And summer with another wind that no one yet has known"

I don't dream. At least I don't remember if I did.

It takes a moment for me to register each of my senses; I'm thirsty and simultaneously desperate to pee-common symptoms of mine after a heavy night of drinking. I'm blessed with no hangover, but I guess I wouldn't fully know unless I sit up and get a feel for how dizzy I am. Despite not opening my eyes I can tell the blinds are open due to how bright it is.

The room smells like cinnamon.

"Oh  _God_  no!" My eyes snap open and dart side to side, only to land upon a waking Harry. His eyes are crusted with sleep and his hair is mussed to his face, wild and in dire need of a combing (per usual).

"Hmm?" He grumbles directly into his pillow. After what feels like an eternity's worth of a blank stare from him, he reacts. He immediately begins to fumble with his wording, "No.  **OH.** Nononono. I don't do drunk hook ups!"

Despite his attempt to calm me the tension in my chest still remains. He doesn't  _do_ drunk hook ups?  _Did_  we hook up?

He watches me for a moment, the usual attempt at trying to read me. I can't even imagine what the look on my face might be.

"I mean like...we didn't do anything...like...you know..."

Oh. He means he doesn't do drunk hook ups, like, at all.

"Are you okay?" His morning voice is comically raspy.

"Uh...yeah?" I snap a little too defensively for such a laissez faire question.

"No, I mean, you almost puked yourself inside out. You feeling alright?"

"Oh," I swallow. "That bad?"

"Yes. That bad," He lets out an exaggerated and loud yawn into his pillow. When he's finished he flops himself over onto his back, "I know it's easy to get carried away with it, but your liver is going to hate you. You're too small to drink so much."

"Okay,  **Dad.** " I grunt, despite knowing that he had an extremely valid point. My alcohol intake was never in moderation, I had become a go hard or go home sort of friend and perhaps it was a bit concerning.

"Didn't know you had a Daddy fetish," He says it relatively quickly, as if he were afraid to hear my reaction but still wished to test the waters. We hadn't really crossed the line of sex jokes in our friendship. Well, you know, except for our sexual encounter, which might as well be labeled a shitty joke.

I give him a calculated, light slap on the face. He flinches almost immediately, causing me to pull back.

"Holy shit, dude!" I practically yelp, propping myself up onto my elbow so that I can get a better look.

"Holy shit, dude!" He repeats in a mock surfer voice, trying to make light of the situation.

"I'm serious, what the fuck happened to your face?" A sweltering purple was beginning to rise on his right cheek. Harry Styles, what in the world have you gotten up to?

"Aside from being crafted by the best of sculpt-" He begins.

"Seriously!" My voice is shockingly high pitch and whiny (even for me). I can't even bring myself to touch the damn thing; my fingers simply quiver over it.

It's my turn to try and understand his expression. He bores holes into me, as if deciding whether or not I was worthy to hear his story. The silence nearly breaks me its so vomit inducing (and god knows I had done enough of that last night).

"Should we leave it?" I suggest, despite every bone in my body wanting otherwise.

He nods, turning his gaze to the ceiling. I lay myself back down slowly, mirroring his position of lying on his back.

"Spoon me?"

He laughs and I feel my head spin from what I imagine is the leftovers of a night spent puking.

"That I can do," He turns over and drops his arm over me, letting it deadweight over my waist. I'm pleasantly surprised that he trusted me again, especially after our last strange physical encounter.

"You're a Pisces."

"True blue," I note, shifting underneath Harry's arm, trying to get more comfortable.

"Sensitive, artsy, mysterious..." Harry trails off dramatically, causing me to laugh. Fuck his ability to charm the shit out of anyone and brighten the mood.

"Yessir. ‘Til the day I die," I get out each word through a big yawn. When I'm done, I pull his arm further around myself, so that his chest presses against my back warmly, "What're you?"

"Aquarius."

"So..."

"February."

"What day?"

"First."

I let his words sink in. What was I doing that day? Did I just not wish him happy birthday? Oh fuck, that's so shitty. Fuck.  **FUCK.**  He hosted a surprise party and bought me a shirt and I hadn't even wished him a fucking happy birthday. I knew I should check my Facebook more often.

Fuck, Becca, you fucking idi-Oh wait. That was study week. I was home. That was the week I laid in bed and did nothing...

But we had spoken afterwards on that night Katie and I got high, I asked him about his break and he had answered. What the fuck had he said? Did he mention his birthday? Was I so high I forgot? What the fuck did he say!?

_"But actually...Uh, I slept, smoked up, read a bit, chilled with Z, got laid, watched the Wire. Fun things for the most part, but I'm ready to go back to class."_

**Right!**  He had gotten laid.

"Oh, shit, that sucks, it was on study week! Was anyone around? What did you do?" Now it was my turn to sound like a dad.

"Eh. Not much. I actually hung out with my ex a bit. We're still friends...sort of."

Ugh. Gut me. He got laid. Katie was right.

"Sort of?"

"Yeah, it's like a friends with benefits thing..." He sighs into my ear. Well, at least he admits it.

"Weren't you growing out your hair because you were getting revenge against her?" I note quickly, probably sounding like a desperate shit.

All I can picture is her hands in his hair, tugging at it as he-

"Yeah," He exhales, tickling my neck with his breath, "What can I say? Shit is complicated."

"Yeah." Good stuff, Becca. Real prolific.

"Doesn't matter now anyway. I called it off."

Oh my God. Holy shit.

"Why?" Maybe if I only speak in one-word sentences he won't catch on that I'm freaking the fuck out. Did he like me? Am I crazy? Well, yes. Can someone fucking tell me what is going on?

"I dunno, seemed kind of stupid. Not really much else to say but that."

I had about fifty more questions for him about what ‘stupid' meant, but before I could continue, the door creaked open, revealing Katie, who was sporting an oversized Stitch Kigurumi.

"Why the fuck are you guys awaaaake?" She growns, zombie-walking her way over to the bed and collapsing at the end of it face first.

"Why are you awake?" Harry laughs, quickly drawing his arm off of me. Awesome.

"Because I hate myself. And because my head fucking hurts."

Shit. Right. Katie. That was a conversation to be had.

I think back to our strange ‘good luck birthday kiss', but it's all one big blur. I try to fumble together a conclusion but it's pointless with the state my muddled head is in.

"Why didn't you stay in bed?" I clumsily nudge her shoulder with my toe and she grunts, unamused. She seemed okay? I feel okay? I hope we're okay.

"I don't knooow. Don't ask meeee. I just did and I heard you guys talking so I decided I wanted to join."

**We're okay.**

"Don't you have a headache? Why would us talking hel-"

"-Ssshh. No one asked you, Styles," She squirms her way over to the other side of Harry, nuzzling her face between his shoulder bones, "You're so gross and bony."

"Thanks, Katie!" He pipes up loudly, eliciting a groan from her lips. We both hush him in response.

Her choice to take Harry's side of the bed strikes me as slightly uncomfortable, but I try to shrug it off. It's okay, I think. Yeah. We're okay.

Only a minute later she's back to sleep, snoring softly into Harry's back.

"She's drooling on my shirt, I can feel it..." He whispers into my ear, causing me to jump a bit in surprise.

"Good," I whisper back.

I can hear his quiet snickering, he shuffles a bit, causing Katie to sleepily flop head first into the sheets. He draws himself so close to me that I can smell that bittersweet mix of morning breath and that...cinnamon-y Harry smell. He flops the non-bruised side of his face directly on top of mine.

"Hi."

"Hi."

I can't even bring myself to say anything else. I had technically had sex with this dude, but all he has to do is lay his face on mine and I'm basically rendered speechless and spluttering like a kid on the first day of school.

-

"It's 4pm and I'm drinking coffee and no one can goddamn stop me," I fling my free hand around, gesturing wildly like a villain.

"You should become a rapper," Zayn mutters into his drink, "I always have coffee at 4pm, by the way."

"How do you fall asleep?" I ask in disbelief, "If I drink anything past 12pm I'm pretty much fucked and shaking with caffeine for the rest of the night."

"I just don't sleep," He smirks, nodding his head towards the quad.

I nod, not surprised whatsoever. That would explain just about everything and nothing about him. We take the shortcut through the grass, trying not to spill our coffee as we quicken our steps.

For about the second time this afternoon we fall into a silence in which Zayn seems completely fine with and I am completely not. Being the queen of anxiety, it's hard not to assume Zayn is plotting my murder when he's quiet.

"You seem good," He says as we pass the mid-quad Statue-the usual old man standing proudly. Even if you paid me I couldn't tell you what was so significant about that guy that he deserved a spot in the middle of the school.

"Hmm?"

"Healthy, yeah." He leaves it at that, despite the fact that that was the most vague sentence (compliment?) known to man.

I wipe away a little dribble of coffee from my lip, "Thanks. I think I am. Better, at least, I mean, over all."

"Yeah, you seem more chill than you did when I first met you."

Have you looked at yourself, Zayn? No one can chill if they're in close proximity with your face.

"Thanks."

"Did you have fun the other night?" He pipes up after another bout of silence.

The sound of our feet crunching against the grass fills the air.

"Yeah, sort of. Hate birthdays," I mutter into my cup, but he nods, acknowledging that he's heard me.

I try to swallow another gulp of the steaming liquid before we enter the rehearsal space.

In the not so far distance I spot Niall-a bruise on his face that could rival Harry's.

-

"What the fuck?" Liam spits (quite literally). A speckle of it lands on Harry's face, which he quickly wipes off with the back of his hand. "What in the  _fuck_  is that?"

Liam is having a meltdown and there is no way in hell I'm interfering.

"We're supposed to practice a fucking sex scene and you have a fucking--fucking _tumor_  on your face!" He gestures wildly at Harry's newest edition. Harry winces each time Liam's hands enter the vicinity of his face, afraid of his touch. "How the fuck is she supposed to kiss you if you're going to be squinting and grunting the whole time?"

The entire cast is pretending to mind their own business, but it's far too eerily silent to believe that.

"I'm sorry...?" Harry chuckles uselessly, which contributes to Liam's anger further.

"Fuck. Whatever. Be as rough with him as you want today, Becca. It's his own damn fault for..." He trails, eyes falling into slits, "For ‘ _smacking his face against his bedside table'_."

I sneak a look at Harry who is completely expressionless. The two have some sort of silent exchange of the eyes, finally broken when Liam loosely gestures at the rehearsal space, "Well, hurry up then, we're late as it is."

I nod, choosing to keep my thoughts to myself. Making my way to the middle of the room I catch eyes with Katie who is pulling a face of concern my way. I shrug, before lowering myself on the floor. Harry follows suit.

We hadn't practiced this scene since...the incident. Fuck.

I try to redirect my eyes away from his bruise and onto his eyes or just about anywhere else, but I find it impossible. I needed to know. I needed to know what happened. God knows there is no good way of asking. I can't imagine saying it nicely. Gee Harry, that's a mighty fine bruise you have! How'd you get it? Did you have a vicious fight with my ex-best friend/former love interest?

Oh.

Well. When you put it like that it kind of soun-

"Becca," Liam's voice cuts through my crisis. "Any day now."

I start to say my lines-like a machine. I imitate the voice I know that sounds genuine to everyone else. I make the faces I know that look like I'm present. Something about being in a play, saying the same fucking lines over and over, pretending to live a moment for the first time, feels depressing as shit.

I'm talking to Harry. I'm not talking to Melchior; I can't even pretend I am. I'm not Wendla, I'm not innocent, and I'm not good.

He lays his head awkwardly against my chest, trying his best to not hurt himself even more, "I can hear your heart beat, Wendla."

Fucking doubtful, I don't have a heart.

I run my hands through his hair, as rehearsed. Nothing. I feel nothing. I have this stupid frog boy on me, this total fucking stranger, who forced me into this, pressed against me.

He pulls his head back and stares at me, and I can tell he isn't in character. He knows I'm not either. This rehearsal is a fucking mess.

He leans forward to kiss me, even though I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't want to.

"Oh Melchi-I don't know," It feels mechanical, with no tension. Nothing.

He pulls me to his own chest, and to my surprise, his heart is beating rapidly, "No matter where I am, I hear it beating..."

I forget how to breathe. I forget my line completely.

He's so close. I can taste him before he even reaches my lips. It's familiar and completely different. I kiss him like I'm trying to remember every part of him-the texture, the Cupid's bow, the warmth. He pulls back, like he's supposed to, and the distance between us feels painful, I want him back.

"That's two missed lines, Becca."

I ignore Liam's commentary.

"Melchior..." I choke out, but the words feel so artificial in contrast with the one's hammering in my head. My head feels like it's full of moths dancing around a light-hammering incessantly at the bulb.

I can't, I can't, I'm trying.

His arms are around me, and it's so fucking foreign and exciting and I feel like I'm back in the silence of his room. I feel like I'm back on his hardwood floors.

"No...don't..." I'm fumbling up every word of dialogue. I'm supposed to be resisting, not insisting.

"Wendla..." He croons, nuzzling his nose against mine (an improvisation on his behalf).

"Wait-stop. I can't. We're not supposed to."

"What?"

‘Is there such a thing?'

"I hear your heart...I feel you breathing. Everywhere. The rain...the hay..."

Hurry up, Harry. Say the fucking lines.

Harry lowers me down against the cold ground of the rehearsal space. Hands wandering over me, tugging at my tanktop and pants.

"Please, please, please Wendla..." He begs, yes, yes, yes. His head is back on my chest.

"Melchior-no...it's just-" Shut up, Becca.

"What? Sinful?" Shut up, Harry.

"No, I don't know..."

"Then why? Because it's good?"

My heartbeat stills when he makes eyes with me. His face is mimicking mine. We both know where we were last time we said these words. We both know where this went.

He looks at me as if to ask ‘remember?'

**I remember.**

-

My phone buzzes, waking me up from my hazy half-sleep.

_‘he's fucking in love with you, dude.‘ - katie_


	19. The Song of Purple Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And all shall know the wonder of purple summer”

We pull back from each other, a thin line of our saliva connecting us for a moment after. It’s hard for the two of us not to laugh at the uncomfortable sight of our own spit. We spend a shared minute of silence—wiping off our own mouths, considering, debating, picking at grass.

“I’m sorry, but **nope**.”

I sigh in relief, “Yeah, same.”

“Too weird?”

“YES.” I exclaim a little too loudly, watching as she fights with her lighter, trying to relight the second half of our joint. “I think it was just a drunk weird thing. Yeah?”

“Cool. Same. Glad that’s done with,” Katie chuckles, joint placed tightly to her lips. She takes in a much larger hit than usual, which results in a small coughing fit on her behalf. She hands me the joint so that she can cough up a lung.

“I…” I start up, but she’s still too busy coughing for me to continue the conversation. I slowly finish off the end of our roach, trying my best to not make the same mistake as Katie, “It’s cool. I’ll wait.”

She frowns, red faced, still letting out little splutters. A tear runs down her face and I can’t help but laugh.

“Was I that bad of a kisser?”

She nods her head furiously, trying to resist the urge to choke out again. Finally, her fit eases, “I need a _driiiink_.”

“Do you mean, like, water? I mean, we can go for a **drink** drink? We still have an hour and a half ‘til last call?” I suggest, stamping out the rest of our joint into the quad’s grass.

“I dunno, Liam will fucking rip me a new one if I come home smashed,” She piles her hair into some sort of (flawless) mess onto the top of her head. She habitually runs her hands over her collarbones and along her microdermals that decorate her sternum. She pauses, before speaking again, “He’s been extra grumpy lately with finals coming up and the show and all that shit. He yelled at Harry the whole walk home after rehearsal about hi—“

“Katie?” I interrupt, although I had yet to form a sentence. Just the sound of his name brought so many questions I didn’t even know where to start.

“Hmm?” She hums back, leaning forward and brushing off a small piece of ash that was settled on my sleeve.

“Where do you think he…Like…how?” Nice, Becca. Sentence. I end up pointing at my face as a signifier of what I mean.

“The bruise? Honestly no clue. Trés out of character,” She pouts, slowly propping herself up to leave. “Pretty sure he’s having a second year crisis—lets go for a drink, hey? I’m tired and Liam can suck it. Then again, I’ve literally drunk every other day these past two weeks…I’m going to hell.”

“Is there a crisis specific to each year? Cus I just kind of always am having one,” I admit, following her actions.

“Same, Beccabutt,” She laughs, brushing the grass and dirt from off of her leggings. She reaches for my hand, lacing it gently with mine; it had become a soothing habit the two of us had fallen into, “Same.”

“I feel like I have twenty things to say right now and the weed is not helping me get any of it out.” We slowly head down to the direction of the pub, which is providing itself to be pretty difficult as we’re very not sober.

“Uh…” Katie pauses, her grip tightening and loosening, “Sorry, I’m also kind of fuzzybrained right now. Wanna just like…list everything? Like brainvomit?”

“Yeah, I guess…” I sigh. “But first, drinks.”

I inhale. Where to begin?

\---

**Where The Fuck To Begin Shit Wow I’m Less Sober Than I Thought I Was**  
1\. I saw Niall with a bruise that looked like Harry’s??? This is some teen movie shit!  
2\. Is Liam going to kill me in my sleep!?  
3\. Can we talk about the text you sent me???  
4\. I think I’m over the whole Niall thing???  
5\. I like to pretend I’m getting better but honestly im SO NOT SURE???  
6\. I’m going to fuck up all of Spring Awakening???  
7\. Do you think anyone is going to be confused by the fact that the play is in old fashion white-ass Germany and there are two actors who have Asian heritage? Like isn’t that historically inaccurate…?   
8\. Pretty sure my roommate is dead?? She hasn’t slept in our dorm room in like three nights? Maybe she has a boyfriend/girlfriend??  
9\. What do you think Zayn would look like if he contoured????!!!!

After finishing my Rum and Coke a little too fast, all that comes out of my mouth is a slurred “We need to talk about Harry, yeah?”

Katie lets out a sinister laugh as she comes to the end of her gin and tonic, “Oh my **God** , that’s like that movie about the kid who shoots up the school.”

She cackles for another moment, but I can’t bring myself to laugh along with her. I really, really needed to talk about Harry. Like really bad. Like, my chest hurts and my stomach feels sick.

Katie eventually quiets down when she takes note of the look on my face.

“I dunno! I just kind of…like, saw his face during rehearsal and that was the face he used to give his ex.”

Oh. Great. The same face he makes when he looked at his ex-girlfriend. What a lovely way of putti—I try not to get too riled up, keeping in mind Katie is also incredibly not sober. Not to mention, why the **fuck** did I care?

“I don’t know, maybe that’s not the best way to put it…” She trails off, taking note of my silence.

“Becca,” She begins, grabbing my hands from across the table. I pray she doesn’t acknowledge how clammy mine are, “You guys like each other, you’ve already fucked --just seal the deal.”

“I like him?” It comes out all gargled and weird.

Katie snickers at me as she pulls her hands away from mine in order to signal for the waiter, “ _Seriously?_ Are we doing this dumb shit now?”

“Katie…” I begin, but trail off as the waiter approaches us. No need to unload my stupid issues onto strangers.

I don’t think I do like him. Not in the way I feel/felt/whatever for Niall. I don’t think I’m even capable of dealing with my own shit, let alone dealing with a partner’s shit. Harry is confusing enough as it is as a friend. I feel myself shut down, like I always tend to do when I’m afraid.

“I’ll have another please, how about you, Becca?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sorry, what were you saying?” She slams her hands down a little too loudly against our wobbly table, gathering some stares from nearby patrons.

“Katie. I don’t think I like him,” I admit to her neck. I gather the courage to look her in the eyes; she’s staring at me skeptically.

“You _sure?_ ” She quirks a perfectly plucked eyebrow my way.

“Yeah. Really. Like, he’s great, and cute, but I don’t feel like I’m in love with him.”

“You don’t need to be in love with him to go on a date?” She’s laughing at me. Even she knows how ridiculous I sound, but my words still feel true—I still feel like whatever weird feeling I had/have for Harry was nothing like the intensity I had harbored (maybe still harbor? But I don’t think so…) for my ex-best friend.

Yikes. Ex-best friend. That stings. I have two ex-best friends. Ugh.

“I know, but…” My anxiety doesn’t ease. How is he supposed to deal with me if I can’t even deal with me? My blood feels ice cold, pumping all the way to my fingertips.  “I think I’ve been leading him on,” I sigh, immediately bringing my fresh drink to my lips. Even the hot burning of alcohol doesn’t seem to warm me in the slightest.

“Uh. **No.** You haven’t.” Katie’s face suddenly turns to stone, “No such thing as leading someone on. I don’t care if your hand is halfway down his pants and you’re engaged—no such thing.”

The heat in my body returns, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, dude. I’m just saying: ‘leading someone on’, ‘asking for it’, all that bullshit—that’s the shit dudes like Louis will pull on you,” Her lips snarls at the very mention of his name. She follows this up by looking around to make sure no one is listening in. “There’s nothing wrong with changing your mind. There’s nothing wrong with flirting with Harry but not wanting to date him. I’m sorry I said otherwise.”

“But…if he’s in love with me or whatever…“ I fumble, shoving my glasses back onto the bridge (or lack there of) of my nose.

“Doesn’t mean shit. Harry’s my best friend, but he’s 20 and he’s a big boy. A broken heart is good for the…heart?” She finishes, her dramatic rant dwindling to a dull statement.

“Yeah,” Was my heartbreak good for me? Was this painful piece of shit year ‘good’ for me? “I guess it is.”

\--

I wake up the next morning and do what I do best: drop off the face of the earth. It’s as if all the hard drinking had smacked me upside the head—I needed to get my shit together.

It hit me like a fucking bullet train—I wasn’t getting better, I was becoming stagnant. Merely admitting this to myself causes my heart to spring into double time. I feel sick to my fucking stomach.

I think I had tricked myself into thinking I was okay; focusing my attention on some other boy is not what it means to be “okay”. Smoking and drinking hard enough so that I felt numb is not what it means to be “okay”. Barely doing the work is not what it means to be “okay”.

I remember telling Harry how hard I had worked to get into this school, and yet I sure wasn’t showing it.

I needed to pick up the new meds I had been avoiding getting since my last appointment. I needed to start eating at regular times with regular portions. I needed to do the homework I had been slacking on. I needed to study for my exams. I needed to memorize my lines properly and not just fuck around. I needed to stop focusing on my heart and start focusing on my program (about two weeks before it comes to an end…sigh). I needed to practice my final examination songs. I needed to probably call my mom, too.

Time to stop listening to what I want, and time to start focusing on what I need.

I needed to get better. If not better, then I needed to learn how to cope.

\---

“What did I say about smoking?” Liam snaps as he lights up one of his own.

“Not to do it?” I groan, cursing myself for not noticing him sooner. Caught in the act.

“Not with a week until our performance,” He notes, eyeing me as I take another puff.

“I know, but I’m stressed and wiped. Please. Just let this slide.” Might as well beg now that I’m caught.

He takes a seat beside me on the steps. He doesn’t say anything, which I guess is his version of saying ‘yes’.

I had been working my ass off this week in becoming the perfect Wendla. I think even Liam had begun to notice how hard I was going at it.

Harry and I had barely said a word outside of character. I mean, not that it was his fault; I was immersing myself in everything but him. There wasn’t anytime for us to joke around anymore. I made the conscious decision to be polite to him, but to not engage. I had been rejecting offers to hang out with anyone the past week, including Katie (who was pouty, but understanding. She’s basically the only human I want to hang out with anyways).

“Liam,” He turns towards me, releasing the smoke from the corner of his mouth in an attempt to not blow it in my face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” He furrows his eyebrows at me, probably trying to see if I’m being sarcastic or not.

“Thank you for the role. Thanks for trusting a non-actor like me. I didn’t picture myself ever doing this shit again,” I admit, shoulders slumping.

“ _Becca,_ ” His voice is harsh and I can already see him reprimanding me from a mile away. “I’m glad you decided to ‘do this shit’ again. You surprised me. I’ve been acting since I was in high school, and trust me, emotional vulnerability like yours isn’t common.”

Oh.

“I mean, you’re how old? 19? Sure, you’re untrained, but you’re good. Like _really_ good. It’s been…” He sighs begrudgingly, but a small smile still sits on his lips. “A pleasure.”

I can’t even find the words to respond. My cigarette starts to burn at my fingertips, shaking me from my reverie. I toss it before turning back to him.

“ _Really?_ ”

“ **Really**. Sophia and I think you’re going to be famous.”

My bones shake under my skin. My stomach is riding a mechanical bull.

“We were saying how lucky we were to score you for our final year. Every year our musicals have been good, but you’ve really made it the show it is,” He watches me carefully, tossing out his smoke, and brushing off any fallen ash from his jeans. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Everything gets to my head.

\--

“Why are you ignoring me?”

My inner voice lets out a massive groan—something worthy of Tina Belcher.

“I’m…not?” It comes out as a question as opposed to a statement. I look up from my script. He’s towering over my seat as some sort of strange intimidation tactic (which I admit is difficult to take seriously when he’s dressed in costume). His one eye is still painted with pastel purples and greens, but is no longer swollen by the looks of it.

“Really?” He laughs doubtfully, shaking out his long curls (and by long, I mean long. His hair had gotten very, very long). “Come on, Becks.”

Becks.

I take a glance around the empty room—everyone must be doing a scene right now or sitting in the audience watching dress rehearsal.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. I mean, it was half true, I guess? I had been ignoring him more than anyone. “I’m sorting shit out to be frank.”

He crouches down; lowering himself onto his haunches, “Let me help you?”  But he knows I’m going to reject him before he even says it.

“I don’t need help, at least not from you,” He looks as if I’ve stabbed him. I scramble to fix it, “ _No, no_ , I mean, like I need professional help.”

He rolls his eyes (something he’d never thrown my way before) and shakes a hand through the front of his hair, fingers tangling slightly.

“Becca. Let me rephrase that,” He stares at me until I submit to his eye contact. “I need _your_ help.”

“ _Mine?_ ”

“Yes! Get your head out of your ass.”

My body stiffens in surprise, confused by his hurtful language. What the hell?

“You’re being selfish,” The expression he’s taking on reminds me of when he rejected my kiss that one drunken evening. He’s all stern and jaw tight—he’s pissed at me?

I stutter for a moment, unable to rummage together a thought. One minute ago my brain felt all sorted, and now I was back to the start again, like I was learning English for the very first time.

“You’re right. I am being selfish,” I admit, dropping my script to the side of my chair. I pull my legs into myself in a hug, “I need to be right now.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to stutter. After all, what could you say? I needed to recover. I needed to focus on myself.

“Please respect that,” I throw in, before he can get in another word.

He looks down at the floor, running his teeth along his bottom lip. I can see it coming: we fight, he hurts my feelings, I run off, and then he follows suit with a half-ass apology way later, “Becca. I respect you so much.”

The place where I’ve been suffocating my feelings reopens, letting loose a wave of guilt.

“I think…I think maybe I’m being selfish?”

Well then. This conversation just turned on it’s head, “Uh, no, not really it—“

“—I have! I pushed you into this musical for selfish reasons, yeah?”

“Well, I’m not s—“

“—I basically pushed you into our friendship!” He yelps, clearly in disbelief of his own words. “I pushed you into that thing with Zayn.”

“Yeah, but in the end you helped me? So it’s okay, I forgi—“

“—And I’ve lied. Like a shit ton. Like so, so, so much, Becca.”

Oh God. I wish I could pull out my pack of smokes and just start up right here. I spring out of my seat and try to work my way to the exit of the theatre. I need a smoke, I need a smoke. My anxiety. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He jumps onto his feet, long legs barely working half as hard as mine in order to follow me down the hallway.

Even when the fresh air hits my face, I still feel suffocated. Fuck, I forgot my cigarettes. **Fuck, fuck, fuck.** I turn back to go back inside, but he’s stopping me.

“Wait, Becca! Not like bad lies! Like, just stuff that’s scary to admit,” He grabs a hold of my wrist. I immediately shake him off. I was not in the mood for physical contact.

“Look, I lied about…”He inhales and exhales deeply, brain running a mile a minute. He restarts, “I lied about hearing you sing in the music room. I totally Facebook stalked you after Niall mentioned your name at a pub one night. I just didn’t have a less creepy way to say it.”

My face heats up.

His eyes are working their way around my face, waiting for my reaction. “I lied about my ex. I should have told you sooner, I sh—“

“It’s **okay** , Harry.” I laugh. It’s about the only thing I can muster at this point. One big, stupid laugh.

“It’s not okay!” His voice cracks, causing me to laugh even harder. I can tell his cheeks are reddening even under the dim outdoor lights. “I should have told y—“

“Look. Sleeping with your ex is normal. Or so I hear? And you got tested, and you told me eventually, and it’s no big deal.” And Katie told me, but I’m not going to sell her out on this one.

“Really?”

“YES,” I’m still laughing and I can’t even fully understand why. My cheeks are actually starting to hurt, “It doesn’t matter, Harry. It was one night fling of sorts.”

His expression softens, but his cheeks still remain pink.

“Did Katie tell you?”

Yeah...But she thought I knew…I mean, why the hell did this even matter? He wasn’t sleeping with me, he wasn’t sleeping with her. So why even…

I decide to play dumb, “Tell me what? The whole--”

“That I have a ridiculous crush on you!” He exclaims, his arms stretching out dramatically, as if he were announcing it to the world.

**Oh.**

**Well.**

That was…

Not what I was expecting.

My head can’t even fully register the meaning of his words.

I mean, I guess Katie had told me…but not with any evidence behind it. Maybe that was her way of trying to let me know? I guess her saying it was way different than the words actually coming from the Frog Prince’s mouth.

I must have been staring into space, because Harry waves his hands around my vision until I’m brought back down to Earth.

“Sorry, I just…” I play with the hem of my babydoll dress. “…Uh…”

My lack of response is enough for him to get it. He knows. He knows that it’s not mutual—that I’m confused, that I’m scared, that I like him, but that the feeling isn’t strong enough for me to do anything about it.

How do I voice that when I barely can voice myself at all?

“I punched Niall,” He admits.

“I know. I had a feeling,” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, unsure what to do with my body.

“Yeah, I thought it was obvious.” He shuffles his oxfords against the cement, digging his hands into his pockets.

“Why did you do that?”

“Stupid reasons: I was drunk, and jealous, and angry, and I felt like shit that I made you cry on your birthday,” He frowns, swiping his tongue across his upper lip. “That you liked him, and not me. And I should...probably tell him I’m sorry at some point...”

He follows this sentence by covering his face and rubbing wildly at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘so fucking stupid’.

“Do you still want to be my friend?” I pipe up. He lowers his hands eventually.

“Do I have to?” He quips. _There_ we go. There’s the Harry I’m used to.

But it’s a yes. I know it is. I’m just hoping that this idea of friendship was even mildly plausible. Look how that worked out for Niall and I.

“This year has been a nightmare. I don’t think I’m ready for anything like…this.” I find myself knitting my eyebrows together.

He nods slowly, his eyes glazing over. “I know, I know…”

We’re standing opposite each other—tall, pretty Frog Prince, who somehow has a crush on me, and Hurricane Becca, anxious skeleton, and destroyer of all nice things. How did we end up here? It’s so silent, except for the faint piano from inside. How did we even end up talking to each other? What a strange, strange year.

“I don’t think I can just stop liking you, though. Is that okay?” He nearly whispers. One of his curls falls in front of his face like some romcom. He’s beautiful, what is wrong with me?

“I understand. I mean, I dealt with that shit for five years,” I suggest, trying to brighten the mood.

“Dealt?” He repeats. I hadn’t even realized I had voiced it like that.

“Yeah, dealt,” I affirm.

He falls silent for a moment, only to quietly squeak out a “Can I still have a hug? Is that stupid? I feel weird for ask--”

I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in as tight as I can, sweat and cinnamon flooding my head.


	20. Encore (Finale)

We look back on it and laugh. I guess that’s the best thing you can do, yeah?

Harry and I were just one big fucked up game of hide and seek where no one is a dedicated ‘it’. We’re constantly hiding from one another, scared of our own shadows, catching eyes from behind trees, over hearing the snap of a twig in the distance and bolting. 

There was no “slowly, but then all at once” or whatever crap, there was no “love at first sight”—whatever the hell happened had always been there but was not quite ready to be revealed yet—maybe this is the point where I throw in some metaphor about turtle eggs needing time to sit in the sand before they hatch, or something.

First year was the uneasy start to what became an incredibly healthy (for the most part) friendship. After Spring Awakening (a pretty damn good performance if I say so myself) successfully came to it’s end, I spent the summer attempting to remove my head from my sphincter.

At Sophia and Liam’s graduation bash, as we passed around an expertly rolled joint (courtesy of me), Harry and Katie offered me the lovebirds’ old space to try out for the summer—to which I said a massive, excited yes. 

It wouldn’t take an idiot to realize I was not meant to have two extroverted roommates. The two of them loved to host a good weekly party, which provided itself as rather difficult, as I had promised myself a summer of no ‘influences’. I spent most of that summer either locked in my room watching Netflix or washing dishes at a crepe restaurant just a small bike ride out. I wasn’t depressed so much as I felt like I was simply skimming through life, looking at the Sparknotes rather than doing the readings, and that was a temporary coping mechanism. 

The worst part of my summer in the townhouse was how Harry’s drunken body always managed to find it’s way into my bedroom, flushed face, mouth pouty, apologizing for still ‘liking’ me or informing me about how he had kissed someone in an attempt to move on. 

He wanted to remain honest with me in order to make up for all the lies he had told, but instead it created more distance between us.

All I could do was offer him artificial comforting words or an uncomfortable hug, and depending on the night he’d launch into a frustrated cry, while others he’d simply storm out. It had begun to take a toll on my comfort inside my own home, and we decided it best that I move out for the new school year.

People always promise themselves that they’ll just have one day where they “get their shit together”—I have yet to have that day. I still have no shits together, but when the school year began I started slowly trudging through my shit instead of sitting in it. 

Something accidental happened half way through second year. 

As if by clockwork, when I was ready, Harry wasn’t. 

Although any form of rejection is hard, and even though I wasn’t okay, in a lot of ways I was. 

The best part about falling in love with Harry was that it was nothing like falling in love with Niall—I wasn’t making excuses for his shitty behavior, I wasn’t falling in love with someone who just happened to look my way sometimes, and even when he started dating someone he never ignored me, and never revolved his entire existence around her. 

In a lot of ways I didn’t need to romanticize him, he did it for me.

What Harry could not provide romantically, he made up for in his ability to soften my anxiety, to inspire my work, to ask me questions, to challenge me, to brighten my life. 

When Katie and I failed to put together a new musical theatre group (sorry Liam and Sophia!), Harry and I started up a youtube channel where we began posting original songs. 

When I struggled with singing an Italian piece for my second year final, Harry coached me.

When I finished up a shift at the creperie during the fall of third year (at this point I had been promoted to a line cook), he met me outside—the stupidest smile on his face.

Because something about that moment, that month, that year, made both of us step out from behind the trees and quit this pointless game.

\---

I finish off the last of my lukewarm PBR before laying the can back onto the grassy ledge of the lake. Swallowing the bitter ale, I take in a deep inhale, enjoying the scent of growth, barbecue, and distant bonfire. I’m happy to discover that I’m finally at a point of drunkeness where I’m not totally creeped out by the idea of putting my feet against the bottom of the lake. 

I can’t remember the last time I had gone swimming—let alone been in a lake. 

The sun spreads across my exposed skin like a blanket of warmth. I had managed to obtain my own version of a tan, a few speckles along my shoulders, and I took that as the best I would get.

I take a look over at Katie, who’s currently piggybacking a flailing Perrie. 

The three of us had promised a week of no makeup or nice clothing in order to fully get into the vibe of the camping trip. Figures I’m the only one who decided to keep the promise.

I have barely a cent to my name after the amount I just spent on this road trip, so I’m trying to make the best of everything, and not gripe over the little things. 

I awkwardly propel my body onto the ledge of grass, streaking my wet shins with mud and rubble. Scrambling to my feet, I grab my empty can and follow the sounds of faint acoustic guitar. I drip my way across the campgrounds, tugging aimlessly at the bottom half of my bathing suit. 

As I approach the picnic table, I throw in a 3rd interval harmony on top of his melody. He gazing up from the frets of his guitar, a small smile building on his face. 

“You’re flat, Harry,” I lay down a towel beside his seat so that I can scoot my sopping wet body beside his dry one. He’s dressed in my least favourite article of clothing that he owns: neon yellow swim trunks. 

He stops playing, clearly irritated by my need to point out if he was on-key or not.

“You’re flat,” He laughs, tipping his sunglasses down his nose slightly so that he can stare pointedly at my chest.

“RUDE!” I squeak, swatting at his arm as he places his guitar onto the table. He lets out a laugh before turning towards me, resting his hands on either side of my neck and catching his mouth with mine.

“Happy Grad Trip, you shit,” I mutter. Even when I’m drunk it feels like fire. It’s been almost a year and it still feels like fire. Every stupid face he makes, every thing he says, every mention of his name. 

He runs his tongue quickly against my bottom lip before pulling away, “Soon, all this…” He gestures dramatically at the camping lot in front of us. “Will be yours, Simba…”

I run a hand through my tangled hair, tugging at it until I manage to release a knot, “One more year, yeah.” 

I turn myself to him and plant a dramatic, loud kiss on his cheek.

“You’re dripping on me,” He grunts, wiping at his cheek after I’ve pulled off of him.

“You’re dripping on my fun,” I snap back, my grin growing wider by the minute. He falls quiet, still holding that smile on his face, his dumb dimples out.

“Your butt looks cute in that bathing suit,” He goes to pinch at what he can.

“Stop! Stop! Ew!” I pretend to squirm under his touch. 

I can’t believe I’m going to be spending a year without him. 

“Who’s going to bring me coffee when I have to pull all nighters?” I mutter, my lip pouting in mock disappointment.

“You’re just going to have to invest in a personal slave,”

“A classic conclusion from a white man,” I sigh, drawing a small gasp from his lips, soon followed by a laugh.

“I’m going to visit as much as I can, of course,” I can feel myself missing him before he is even gone. “After all, we have a youtube channel to maintain. We have fans to satisfy,” 

“Fans are never satisfied.”

“I love you.” It feels like fire every time he says it.

“I know,” I say, “It makes me sick.”

In one fowl swoop I’m lifted from off the bench and am being pulled into his arms. It’s a matter of seconds as he bolts across the grass and tosses my body back into the depths of the mossy lake.

I stay submerged for a moment and open my eyes to the blur of green. My body feels weightless.

I see two feet slip in slowly, followed by a pair of yellow shorts and a torso with a blur of tattoos.

Finally, I decide to come up for air. My singer lungs can only hold air for so long.

When I finally lift myself up, breaking the surface, he is standing there, smiling.


End file.
